Better Men
by OMhypothesis
Summary: War can tear people apart, or bring them together. Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr gave up on being lovers long ago, but five years post-Cuba, a stranger brings them back in contact. ProfX/Magneto, Wolverine/OC, updated every two days until it's done. Rated M for language and eventual sexy situations.
1. Prologue

****A few notes before we begin: This is unabashedly a fix-it fic, one that includes rather gratuitous amounts of an original character I came up with. If it helps you, think of her as a plot device. I've never done a fully-fleshed-out OC before and I tried very hard not to make her too Mary Sue, but she was born out of an intense desire I had, every time I watched XMFC, to reach into the screen and firmly shake Charles and Eric until their teeth rattled. So she does that a lot and if she gets a little snarky about it I can't help it. MAN THEY MAKE ME SO MAD SOMETIMES. **

**Other things: There have got to be at least 20 different X-Men storylines and I play fast and loose with them here. Logan's backstory in particular will borrow from several, and in some cases totally diverge from any canon altogether. Purists beware.**

**Lastly: You know I don't own any of this. About a billion other people came before me and made this whole thing up, and they were awesome, so go spend your money on their stuff. As for me, all I want is a) for Charles and Eric to live happily ever after, and b) for you to tell me what you think. Seriously, message. Review. I crave your input like a vampire craves blood.****

Erik felt like an ass walking down a sunny Canadian sidewalk in a suit. Charles was blithe about it - Charles Xavier was born for linen button-downs and sports jackets. They were on their way to intercept yet another potential mutant ally. Charles described the candidate as a large man in his thirties, who would be found in a bar drinking himself into oblivion. Erik was too dignified to roll his eyes but the temptation was there.

In that moment a dreamy-looking boy exited a nearby shop and collided with Charles, who caught him reflexively. A well-timed hand under the telepath's arm, courtesy of Erik, was all that kept the pair from tumbling to the bricks. "Watch it!" Erik hissed, but for a wonder Charles' blue gaze was focused elsewhere. On the boy in his arms, who Erik realized was not a boy after all, but a slim-hipped young woman with a short mop of dark hair and huge, impossibly green eyes.

"I beg your pardon," Charles exclaimed, setting her to rights with a little more hands-on effort than necessary. For the love of - was Xavier truly going to flirt now, in the middle of the street? In the middle of a _mission_? Erik's hands twitched irritably at his sides. The young woman still hadn't spoken. He realized she was instead making shapes with her fingers in the air. Signing. Charles lifted a hand and casually brushed his temple. "Not at all," he was saying in response to whatever she'd signed. "I should have been paying attention to the path. Allow me to -" Charles broke off, a strange expression flashing across his face. "Oh my," he sighed abruptly. He glanced up at the metal-bender, suddenly very serious. Erik returned the look with confusion.

"Forgive me, my dear," said Charles to the woman. "Let us buy you a drink." She smiled at them, signing briefly. "I'm afraid I must insist," said the telepath firmly.

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She was really too calm for a young, attractive creature who had just been shuffled into a private booth by two strange men and handed a beer. Charles and Erik sat facing her, the first man beaming, the second scowling. "Miss... Alice Cantor, am I right?" Charles grinned. The woman's eyes widened briefly, before she lapsed back into an easy lean. She inclined her head.

"You have a little secret," said Charles conspiratorially. "As it turns out, so do we." He touched his hand to his face, and Erik could tell he was projecting. Most people hearing Charles in their heads for the first time practically jumped out of their skin, but Alice Cantor merely clasped her hands on the table and gave them both a faint smile. "She's a mutant?" Erik sputtered, caught off guard. "Of course!" Charles said brightly. "Now, would you...?"

Erik used his power to lift a fork from the table and plunk it into Xavier's drink. "Erik!" Charles laughed, but the girl merely looked fascinated. She propped one elbow on the table and leaned her chin into her hand.

"There you go," Erik muttered. "We showed you ours, now show us yours."

"Erik, that's not quite -"

"Shhh," said the girl, a voiceless susurration of noise against white teeth. She reached a hand across the table and turned it palm up, an invitation. Charles slid his own hand into hers without a moment's hesitation, and Erik grimaced. Too trusting by half, the ignorant Brit.

Alice closed her fingers gently around the telepath's, and slowly a broad, blissful smile stretched across his face. Charles looked as if he'd just had a go at Cassidy's secret stash. "An empath," he breathed. "My, that's... mmm, that's lovely." The girl quietly slid her hand back across the table, and Charles took a moment to compose himself. "I was unaware that empaths could project," he remarked thoughtfully. She shrugged.

_I was unaware there were other empaths_, she thought to him clearly, and he grinned again, pleasantly surprised. "But of course!" he enthused. "And so many other gifts! It's why we've come, you know. It's time we mutants got to know each other."

_Your friend looks as though he's swallowed a lemon_, she prodded mentally.

"Oh, that's just Erik's way," Charles laughed. "He hates not being the center of attention." The metal-bender growled.

"So you can't speak," Erik bit out. "Is that part of your mutation?"

"Erik, really!" Charles looked affronted. "It's no good trying to extend the hand of friendship if you're just going to be an arse -" Alice cut him off with a gentle shake of her head. _He gets right to the point_, she said. _It's refreshing_. Charles frowned. "It's not," he answered Erik shortly, after a time.

Erik had had just about enough chit-chat, and daylight was wasting. "We're with the CIA," he told the girl succinctly. "We're gathering mutant allies. Will you join us?"

The girl looked troubled. Her eyes moved to Charles before he even began to speak. "It's an opportunity," said Xavier softly. "To be part of something. To be with your own kind at last."

She considered them both, her green eyes penetrating. Finally she shook her head and moved to stand. "Won't you reconsider?" Charles pleaded. She gave him another long look. Her smile was small and sad. Then she slipped away, her abandoned beer still full and sweating condensation on the table.

"What did she say?" Erik demanded at last. Charles' face was brooding.

"She said," he answered, "that she had no desire for war."


	2. Chapter 2

**** Note: I know the Wolverine in the comics is a small, wiry animal. My Logan is a big hulking slab of man meat… as he should be. Hope you like it.****

And war was what it turned out to be, after all. Charles often thought of that sunny afternoon when he'd spent a little too long in his wheelchair, back aching, and wondered what life could have been like if he'd never gotten involved in Moira's little project. Perhaps things would be better without his best friend and erstwhile lover torn from him, hiding in the underground with an army of revolutionaries and an elevated thirst for bloodshed. Perhaps Charles would have been happier if Erik Lensherr - no, _Magneto_ - had perished long ago, at the bottom of the sea, and left him to continue his life as a lowly geneticist picking up women in bars and running three miles a day on hale, whole legs.

But then Shaw might have achieved his final solution. And there certainly wouldn't be this little school, growing each day as more and more misunderstood children showed up at the door with their belongings. Charles may have lost his mobility, his naiveté and a portion of his hair, but he hadn't lost his need to nurture. He was born to be Professor X. It was a hard life, but a good one.

He let his vast mind out to stretch at last, confident that the night was roomy enough. He touched a dozen sleeping minds, his contact gentle and warm. The manor was at peace and no harm lurked on the grounds... except... mm. Logan. Even with his eyes still closed Charles frowned.

The man was a menace. He cursed constantly and he nicked the good scotch out of the study. He filled the icebox with beer and left empty bottles all over the kitchen for the children to find in the morning. He was surly and rude and he never stayed around more than a few days before absconding into the night like a feral cat with a backpack full of sandwiches. Still, Charles had to admit, the man's heart was mostly in the right place. And despite being an absolute shite role model, Logan would protect the kids with his life, no hesitations.

He still remembered walking up to Logan's back in that god-awful pub. "Go fuck yourselves," had been Logan's immediate response. Open and shut, no conversation required. Even Erik - _Magneto_ - laughed about it later. Magneto had admired the man. "We should go back for him," he'd said. "That one's got chutzpah." Charles suspected his old partner had looked for Logan when the mutant uprising began, but the truth was the big man didn't give a damn about revolutions, politics, or society. He didn't want a 'cause.' All he wanted was a warm place to sleep and solitude. He would barely accept the tiniest gestures of love or affection, and camaraderie was right out.

The fourth or fifth time the muscle-bound mutant had shown up, Charles had steered him to the study. "Do you play chess?" he offered as an opening gambit.

"Nope," the man shot back, chewing an unlit cigar obnoxiously.

Charles had raised a brow. "Fair enough," he replied in kind. "Do you drink?"

"Yep." Charles had poured him two fingers of whisky, then done the same for himself.

"How old are you, Logan?" he'd asked, after they'd both settled into a faintly pleasant haze.

"Don't know." A wary pause. "Don't age." Charles was encouraged by this slight capitulation. He poured the man another drink. Behavioral conditioning and all that.

"Where do you live?" he'd asked casually. "Because you surely don't live here."

Another suspicious look. "Nowhere. I move around." In a sudden defensive display, Logan shot a length of sharp metal out of his hand and used it to pick his teeth. He examined whatever he'd picked out nonchalantly, projecting not-so-subtle menace.

"Don't get huffy," Charles said mildly. "You know you're always welcome." In a show of his own, he leaned back in his chair, the picture of fearless ease. "In fact, if you'd give us some notice, I'd have a room ready for you. Perhaps a pack of... what is that swill you drink? _Natty Light_?"

"Beer's beer," the man said, shrugging. He tipped the tumbler back into his mouth, downing expensive whisky like it was water. "Listen, Doc, I ain't exactly a man with a plan. I go where I go when I go, you catch me? If you don't want me crashing here that's fine by me. I got other places I could be."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Charles said with a sigh. "Honestly, I'd rather you stay. But I won't make you. And I won't ask your reasons, if it agitates you so much."

"You won't make me," said Logan bluntly, and the fierce intelligence he tried so hard to mask was suddenly there and palpable in the room. "You won't, but you _could_."

"I'm not a threat to you," Charles said gently. "As far as I'm concerned, you're one of mine." He paused, rubbing his forehead where a whisky headache was building. "You have a home here if you want it. That's all."

The other man laughed bitterly. "I've never had a home and I never will. In a hundred years this will all be rubble with the smoke long cleared, and I'll be the same fucking animal I've always been. No offense, _Professor_." He stood, letting his long formidable body straighten in the night air, and thunked his empty tumbler down on the desk. "Thanks," he said abruptly, striding out of the room and leaving the door swinging.

The exchange had lingered with Charles. That graceless 'thanks' had ostensibly been for the drink, but now Charles wondered if it hadn't meant more. Without violating the snarling sanctity of Logan's mind the man was extremely difficult to read or predict, but after that conversation, he'd stayed away for months, then just as suddenly started showing up again, this time more frequently than before. He was still a grumpy son of a bitch but he kept a change of clothes in the downstairs coat closet now, and that was progress.

Charles pulled his mind away from this unpleasant study at the faint chime of a doorbell. Who could be ringing so late? Whoever it was, their brain was fuzzy, veiled. He made his way to the study door, frowning worriedly.

He didn't beat his hostile ward to the door. Wolverine was in full force against intruders, his sharp teeth bared in a wolfish smile. "What's the password?" he growled as he pulled the door open.

A face from Charles' past peered shyly around Logan's bulk. The visitor gave an uncertain little wave, and Charles felt his breath catch. He wheeled forward, placing a restraining hand on the other man's massive arm.

"Hello, Alice," he said.

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She looked nearly the same as she had all those years ago, her hair an unruly black mop over that wide ingénue gaze. Next to Logan she looked like a child. "You know this person?" Logan demanded, and Charles couldn't help smiling a little at his protectiveness. "An old friend," he assured him. She held out an amiable hand, and Logan frowned. "A _quiet_ friend," he huffed.

"She can't speak," Charles corrected. Logan ignored her outstretched hand and she let it drop with a rueful glance at the telepath. The big man fixed her with that feral glare, and she let him look his fill, passive and relaxed.

"A chick that can't talk," he remarked after a moment. "I think I like that." She bared her teeth at him, and Charles saw a brief flash of humor cross the man's face. "Fuck, I need another drink. Have fun." He trundled off toward the kitchen.

"It's good to see you, Miss Cantor," Charles said, leading her to the study. She followed his chair placidly, her silence after years of rowdy teenagers a little unsettling. Even her little feet were quiet. Charles held the door for her chivalrously and she gave him a polite nod before entering the room. He waved to a leather chair and she sat gracefully, crossing her ankles. "So," he began. "Tell me how you've been."

_I can't complain_, she thought easily, and he was struck again by how neatly she spoke to his mind, as if they'd been conversing this way for years. _I'm impressed with what you've accomplished here_, she continued.

"It's been a struggle," Charles conceded. "But ultimately worth it, I think. The children are making excellent progress." He paused to collect his thoughts. "I must confess I'm surprised to see you here, although you are more than welcome. After our initial meeting I was under the impression that the mutant cause was not of interest to you."

_On the contrary_, she said_. I was disappointed I couldn't join you that day in the bar. But I sensed that your companion, and to a lesser extent yourself, were gearing up for a fight, and I'm not suited for them. My..._ her thoughts trailed. _My particular disposition makes any sort of conflict... unpleasant. _

"I see," said Charles. "Even when the cause is just?" He couldn't help the thread of judgment that laced his tone.

Her mental voice was wry. _Even so. Yet I must point out that your friend was not much interested in just causes. His soul was bent on vengeance._

His eyes prickled. "Yes, I'm afraid you're right about that," he replied heavily. "I wish you could have told me. It might have spared everyone a lot of heartache."

_You wouldn't have believed me_, she said. A judicious pause. _You were very much in love._

"What?" he asked, startled. "Even then?" he blurted. Her eyes were compassionate. He let his breathing even out. "You have quite a gift," he acknowledged shakily.

_Some days it doesn't feel like one_, she replied, clearly affected by his feelings. _If it helps, he loved you back_. _Even then_.

Charles bowed his head. "It does," he murmured. He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at his face, then handed it to her for her own. "So." He cleared his throat. "You've come all this way, I'm sure it's not merely to reminisce."

_No_, she agreed with a mental sigh. _They're asking for blood samples at my workplace. To check for drugs, they say, but you and I know better. It's beginning. _He shook his head angrily. "I suppose it was only a matter of time. Damn it." He desperately wished he could stand and pace, but settled for wheeling his chair to the window restlessly. "Thank you for warning us." He was absently grateful for her silence as he sorted through his thoughts. It took him several minutes, but she was patient. Her mind did not prod at him.

"You cannot go back," he affirmed, not unsympathetically.

_It would be dangerous_, she agreed.

"What is your occupation?"

_I was a teacher_, she told him. _I taught elementary at a school for the deaf._

At last, a genuine smile broke over his face. "Brilliant," he said. "When can you start?"


	3. Chapter 3

****Another little bite. And a teensy bit of Raven at the end. The next few chapters will feature everyone's favorite metal-mover. **

**Tell me you love me. I need your love!****

None of the students at Xavier's School for Gifted Children knew sign language, but this ultimately proved a small obstacle. Alice was a natural favorite, and got along quite well with a chalk board and an expressive face. The majority of her class expressed an interest in learning to sign after a week of her tutelage, so it was incorporated into the existing curriculum for all students twelve and under.

A letter of resignation was posted to her former employer, explaining that a death in the family necessitated an immediate move out of state. If anyone suspected her timing, it was at least not definite evidence of her inhumanity. A post office box was set up with forwarding, and Dr. McCoy frequently showed up with letters from her former students when he deigned to visit. She let her apartment and brought back a cat when she went to retrieve her belongings. The cat, an aging tabby who answered to Milo when he was in the mood, bed-hopped among the students shamelessly and soon grew fat from covert treats. Sean proved desperately allergic, but begged Hank for allergy shots. Subsequently Sean and Milo could often be found snoozing together in sunny windows, two gingers wheezing together in sleepy tandem.

Perhaps the most surprising development was how well _Logan_ tolerated Alice. He mostly eschewed any room with other people in it, but from the start he was content to let Alice putter around in his presence. Charles thought it might have to do with how quiet she was. It _was_ rather soothing. After a few weeks, however, Logan himself began to break the silence, shocking everyone by having more than two words to say to anybody. Alice couldn't answer him of course, and therein lay the probable charm. Logan took to teasing her, a development she withstood cheerfully.

Alice was naturally tactile with the children and even with Charles, constantly hugging and brushing hair out of faces, but she seemed to sense that touching Logan was out of bounds, and relegated herself to careful parabolas around his massive bulk when he was near. A month in, Logan came to some sort of internal decision about the whole thing. Now when Alice watched TV beside him, he frequently initiated contact. Mussing her short hair was a particular favorite.

Charles wheeled himself out of Cerebro, pleased that the machine no longer gave him the headaches he once dreaded. He made his way to the elevator and then to the kitchen, and found one of his newer students there, a slender, striking thirteen year old named Ororo. She'd been a bit fierce when she arrived, her Kenyan accent thick, but she'd made great strides since then. He felt a frisson of pride as he looked at her. She glanced up at him through long lashes, suddenly shy.

"Miss Munroe," he greeted pleasantly. "How grand to see you out and about."

"Professor," she nodded respectfully. He made his way to the pantry, retrieving biscuits and a tin of tea. "Would you like some?" he asked.

"Sure," she said. Then, timidly, "I brought some Roobios with me when I came. You will try it?"

"Why, that would be lovely!" he exclaimed, genuinely pleased. He put the kettle on and warmed a tea pot, taking down china. "Tell me, how do you find your schoolwork? Are you getting along well?"

"I think yes," the girl replied. "I very much like our new teacher."

"Ah yes, Miss Cantor. She is a treasure; we were quite lucky to get her." He measured a spoonful of reddish leaves into the teapot. "Boiling water, or…?"

"A little less hot is better. The leaves can be delicate."

"Very good." The kettle was hissing, so he pulled it off the fire before it whistled. "So what is it about Miss Cantor you like so well? It's not the maths, is it? Lord, I hated maths when I was your age. I understand the woman is a right devil for them." He filled the teapot slowly, watching the leaves swirl before capping it to steep.

"I do not mind the mathematics. The signing, that is enjoyable to me. It is like an old women's language I saw spoken at home. In class, we build many things out of models. She teaches us about the rain cycle this week. I like this lesson very much." Ororo paused, her expression thoughtful. "She makes me feel safe. For this reason I love her."

He poured the tea absently. "She does, doesn't she? I wonder if it is deliberate, or a natural side effect."

"Pardon?"

"Never mind, my dear, I'm rambling. Do you take sugar?"

"I do not care for it." A pause, as the room filled with warmth. "There is lemon?"

"This is an English kitchen, child. There is _always_ lemon."

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The children were happy, the house was happy. Outside the school the world was rapidly descending into chaos. The Brotherhood struck often, and the government struck back. A new law was up for the vote that required all public sector workers to submit to a blood test. But on Professor X's grounds, life was still sweet. A wet spring was gradually giving over to summer. Sean and Alex took perverse delight in putting the older students through their paces, pushing their physical training every bit as hard as a certain metal-bending mutant had once done them. Inside the classrooms exams loomed, and Madam Cantor's off-hours suddenly vanished. Charles found the bevy of anxious students trailing Alice fairly hilarious, especially when they followed her into the TV room at night. Logan found it less funny. In fact, the sight of his sanctuary being invaded by schoolchildren caused him to puff up like a startled cat and flee for the woods. Alice tolerated it all stoically, even when one girl curled up in her lap. At curfew she herded them gently but firmly up to their rooms, an almost palpable aura of soothing projections surrounding her. When the last one was down, she made her way to Charles' study and fixed him with a baleful glare. He grinned at her, looking like the boyish geneticist he once was, and offered her a glass of Madeira.

She took it and flopped down on the leather sofa with a sigh. "So," Charles began. "How does it feel, having to touch children all day?" She spluttered through a sip of wine and Charles replayed his words back to himself, blushing faintly. "That is _not _what I meant and you know it."

_Idiot,_ came her thought, but it was not without fondness.

"Not something I'm accused of often," Charles rejoined archly, then rubbed his face. "Although justified at the moment."

_I think I'm going mad_, she said. _All those little emotions poking at me constantly. How do you do it? _

"I drink," he replied drily. He raised his glass in a toast. She mimicked the gesture. _Bottoms up_, she grinned, and took a deep draught. He relaxed into her smile, reveling in the gentle flutter of her peaceful emanations against his brain. Then something pinched.

"Oh dear," he murmured.

_What? _

"Someone's bleeding. Or on fire. I'd better… my dear, we should hurry. Would you push…?" She took the handles of his chair and wheeled him rapidly down the hall towards the elevator, following his mental directions. Then they were out the door, down the ramp, the humid twilight making their clothes stick to their skin.

"The fuck you think you were doing?" a voice was roaring. Logan.

"It was practice! For God's sake!" Alex, starting to get heated. On the ground between the posturing men was a somewhat wan-looking student Charles recognized as Robert Drake. Young Bobby had thankfully managed to partially freeze the bleeding burn on his leg, proving more sensible than either of his elders.

"Reckless! Fucking _reckless_, Summers! You make a habit out of almost killing your students, you sociopath?"

"I am _not a sociopath_!" A red glow was starting to form around Alex's middle, and Charles had to act fast.

Logan's claws slid out of his knuckles, and he was growling. Charles had to freeze them. But he knew if he did, the big man was gone. Once he let Logan go, he'd never see him again.

That moment of hesitation was almost their downfall, but luckily the Professor wasn't the only witness. In a flash of movement Alice was between the men, and she'd caught Logan's fist on the downswing, her little hand wrapped around his broad knuckles and her slender neck a hairsbreadth away from the lethal tips of three adamantium blades. For a few beats the entire tableau was frozen, Logan going sheet white as he realized what had almost happened and Alex's power vanishing into his body with an audible hum. At last everyone breathed.

"The hell?" Logan said hoarsely, and Charles could see the man begin to tremble in Alice's grasp.

"Ohhhh shit," Alex whispered, falling into an ungraceful heap on the ground next to Bobby. Logan opened his mouth, probably to blast the woman who still gripped his fist, but her face went terribly fierce.

Those huge green eyes that made her look so girlish were slitted now in fury. Her fingers tightened perceptibly on Logan's hand, and Charles knew without a doubt she was about to send the Wolverine something he would never forget. Sure enough, all the muscles on the man's body suddenly went limp with shock, his claws retreating into his body with a snick. Psychic backwash hit Charles like a hammer and he shuddered.

_Tell him_, the girl was saying furiously. _Tell him what I said._

"She says," Charles hesitated. "She says that is what you would have felt for the rest of your life if you had… struck down your brother." He swallowed. "And what she would have felt, too." Alex was looking a little green around the gills, having clearly gotten a good dose himself. Logan lifted a still-shaking hand towards Alice, but didn't quite touch her.

"I could have killed you, you stupid woman," he whispered. Some of the rage seemed to leave her at that, replaced by pure, bone-deep weariness. She knelt down beside Bobby, brushing a maternal hand over his brow. The boy's eyes slipped closed, his face melting with whatever relief she was sending. She flashed a glance at Alex, and it was sharper than a lance.

"I'll take him to the house!" Alex gasped, righting himself and bending down to help the student up. Carefully, but quickly, they made their way toward the manor.

Logan had finally brought himself to touch Alice, and his broad hand was in her hair. She'd closed her eyes and was beginning to look pale. "She's exhausted," Charles said. "We should get her inside."

Wordlessly the man knelt and scooped an arm beneath her legs, lifting her to his chest. They moved together towards the front door, progressing slowly up the ramp. "I'll put her to bed, Doc," Logan said softly.

"Thank you," Charles murmured back. They'd made a pet of her, he thought a little wildly. But she was dangerous. Very dangerous.

Logan settled the girl onto her own mattress and bent to take off her shoes. He was reluctant to leave, unable to shake the thought that if he left her she'd turn out to be dead, her white throat speared on the ends of his hands. He put his palm against her hair.

A sense of calm trickled up from the point of contact, settling in his chest. Calm, and something else… absolution. She was forgiving him in her sleep. A single boiling tear fell from his face to hit her forehead before he fled the room, like Orpheus fleeing the hounds of hell.

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Logan had been gone for a month and Charles was beginning to think he wouldn't come back. Everyone else had recovered after a few days, although Alex had slunk around poor Alice for quite a bit longer than that. She'd confessed to Charles that the shame radiating off the boy made her food taste sour. Bobby healed up nicely and was back to terrorizing the girls by shooting home-made ice cubes down their collars. Alice finally lost patience and tracked Alex down, yanking him into an involuntary hug, and whatever she did to him during that embrace seemed to melt the stress off him. That, Charles thought, was a bit alarming.

"Sometimes I wonder if you're really a terrible person and you're just manipulating our hearts to fool us," he told her that evening over checkers. She refused to play chess, telling him it was boring. He'd indignantly implied that Mr. Howlett's company had adversely affected her brains.

_Sometimes I wonder if you're a mad scientist and this reality is all a telepathically induced lie to keep us still while you experiment_, she responded, jumping two of his pieces at once.

"I knew it. You're not nice at all," he groused. Checkers was a game for idiots. He got one of her kings as he set up his next move, but she was on to him. Jump, jump, and she had another at the border.

_King me, O mad one_, she ordered.

"You should really have a code name, you know," he said, trying to distract her. "It's tradition." Out of the corner of his eye he caught her apathetic shrug. "Any ideas? No? Hmm…" He moved, but the game was already lost. "What about… Dream Weaver?" She made a face. "Siren?"

_You're gross_, she told him.

"I know! Kalliope."

_Are you serious?_

"Queen of the Muses, who by her holy art heals the suffering and the downtrodden. It's perfect!"

_If I were a muse I'd rather be Polyhymnia._

"My goodness, what a mouthful."

She snorted. _And Kalliope isn't?_

"You can't be Polyhymnia. You can't sing."

Something flashed in her eyes that looked suspiciously like hurt, but she stuffed it down before he could sense it properly. _I can't recite epic poetry either, you twit_, she reminded him patiently.

"I am occasionally a twit," he said by way of apology. "But I still think you're a queen. And I stand by the name." A tingly feeling washed over his skin, and he knew she was searching him. He pushed his love for her outward, certain she needed to feel it. Her hair covered her eyes, but he saw her mouth soften.

_Fine_, she agreed huffily. _I'll be Kalliope if you'll play Demodokus. _

"How risque," he laughed as she captured the rest of the black pieces on the board.

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"Is Professor X available?" said the blue woman at the door. A curious-looking person had answered, a dark-skinned girl with shocking white hair, but Mystique bided her time. She wasn't here for students. The white-haired girl glanced meaningfully back to the house, and Mystique knew with a pang that the child was calling out for the Professor with her mind, as once upon a time another young mutant girl had done.

Charles' voice, startling in its dearness, issued from a grate on the wall. "Who is it, Ororo?" he asked.

"A blue lady," said the girl, her accent strange and musical. "Naked, with red hair and eyes like an owl." Mystique heard Charles' sharp intake of breath.

"Come away now. I will send someone to fetch our guest. You go into the house, and tell the others to keep away from the front, that's a good girl." In a flash the door was shut and the child was gone. Mystique suppressed her irritation, resolving to wait. After five or six minutes someone came, a slender reed of a human she dismissed as soon as she saw her. The woman beckoned, and Mystique followed her to Charles' study.

"You know, Professor, you could have just let me in. I still know the way here," she opened. The sight of Charles in a wheelchair still stung but she didn't show it. He gestured to the sofa and Mystique sat, crossing her magnificent legs with a Basic Instinct flourish that made him wince. She was calm, knowing Charles couldn't get through the metal device on her temples. His face, in contrast, was open and sad.

"It's been a long time, Raven. Are you well?"

"Quite," she replied shortly. In the background, the human who had answered the door was making tea. Raven - no, _Mystique_, she berated herself - noted that the woman wasn't dressed as a servant, but then again Charles always cultivated funny ideas about equality and liberty and so on. "But that's not why I'm here," she continued.

"Very well. Why are you here?"

"I bring a warning, courtesy of a mutual friend. The FoH is coming for your little school, and they're bringing a lot of… new technology."

Charles' face went blank. "I see. Thank you for telling me. Do you know when they're planning to…?"

"Two days. They'll hit at nightfall. About thirty operatives, including two traitors." By 'traitors' Charles knew she meant rogue mutants. The Brotherhood found the crime of turning against the 'species' especially heinous, and often made examples of perpetrators. Extremely bloody, extremely public examples. "We will prepare," Charles said grimly.

"Don't you want to know how they found you?" Mystique queried, her tone provocative.

"I suppose that would be helpful," he said stiffly. Unobtrusively, the human placed a cup of darjeeling in front of him. Mystique accepted a cup of her own and sipped it delicately.

"You have a _mole_," she said. Charles blanched.

"Certainly not," he returned angrily.

"Don't be a fool, Professor. I believe she calls herself Elizabeth Braddock, though her true name is Psylocke."

(No, thought Charles, she doesn't call herself Elizabeth. She calls herself _Betsy._ Betsy Braddock. His mind flew out, seeking the teenager whom he knew as a laughing, bright-eyed child with a talent for fencing. She had a few barriers, but he dove through them cleanly, seeking the truth, and found it. Oh God, Raven was right. One of his own.)

Now was the time, Mystique recognized, while Charles Xavier lay distracted and helpless in his own mind. She yanked the second dampener from where it lay entwined with her own on her head and shot forward, tapping her wrist for Azazel as she went. She was mere milliseconds from getting the device onto the Professor's head when a blast of sheer darkness filled her chest. She hit the floor, gasping with horror, unable to see anything but Charles' blue, blue eyes as they regained focus on her and brimmed with tears. "Oh, Raven," he whispered sadly. Azazel's red form flickered into the room and just as quickly phased out.

"What… did you… do?" she panted from the floor, her skin still crawling. "You said you would never…! You're just… as bad as…"

"I didn't do anything," said Charles brokenly. "You did this. Kalliope is only protecting us… from you."

"Who?" Raven cried out. Through her terror her eyes sought out the dark haired slip of a woman, standing calmly by the teapot. The one she'd dismissed as a non-threat. The one she'd assumed was human. Now the woman's eyes were on her, and they were a blazing, otherworldly green.

"Oh God, don't kill me," sobbed the metamorph, the terror of those eyes spiking her towards madness. She struggled to her feet, clawing her way to the door. Once out of the study she fled through the halls, exploding out of the manor and into the woods where Azazel waited nervously. "_Get me out of here!_" she demanded, and as they phased away and the panic receded, her vision went black.


	4. Chapter 4

****Just a little taste of Magneto. Don't worry, his part gets bigger as we go.****

Charles felt a little too cracked open to be dealing with volatile subjects right now, but that didn't change the fact that Betsy needed to be interrogated. He took Alice and Sean with him, thinking that they perhaps stood the best chance of remaining calm during the ordeal. He had Sean put the girl at the kitchen table before he and Alice came in and locked the doors behind them.

She was a lovely thing, all dark sleek hair and golden skin. He could tell she was frightened, and spared a moment to wonder how Alice experienced her fear. He felt a pang of pity, but it wasn't strong enough to overcome the sense of betrayal. Not yet. He drew up to the table and gave her a long, searching look that had her squirming in her seat.

"Miss Braddock. It has come to my attention that your loyalties have lain outside the school for some time now. Do you have anything to say in your defense before we begin?" She opened her mouth, but Alice was shaking her head. "It's probably best if you don't lie, my dear. It is, of course, your prerogative, but you should be aware by now that you cannot fool me. One way or another, the truth will out."

The girl stared at him. "Do you prefer to be called Psylocke?" he asked her evenly. "I understand that is your 'true' name."

She burst into tears. "No," she choked out. "Please call me B-betsy. I'm so, so sorry!" He glanced to Alice.

_Genuine remorse, as far as I can tell_, she told him. _There's something not quite right here, though_. He nodded.

"Very well then, Betsy," he said in a softer tone. "I'm going to read you now. It won't hurt, I promise you." Steeling himself against the pleading look in her eyes, he moved into her mind. She was a budding telekinetic herself and she put up a bit of a fight, but Charles was not like Emma Frost, and did not bludgeon. Patiently, he teased her shields aside.

There was a lot of guilt here, and rage, and confusion. Here and there strange knots, which he recognized after a moment as alterations, done by a less delicate handler than himself. Not quite brainwashing, but an amplification, a tuning of the young woman's fear and self-hatred towards sinister ends. Underneath it a mixture of desperation and longing and affection. This girl was practically torn in half. Gently he smoothed over the bumps in her psyche, releasing the compulsions that bound her. Then he searched for the information he needed to protect his school.

When he had it, he let her go, and she slumped to the table wearily, still weeping. He sat back, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling a headache coming on that had nothing to do with the use of his powers.

"We need to talk about what we're going to do with her," Sean said quietly. Of all Charles' boys, Sean had been the biggest surprise. He'd come out of his selfish teenage stupor with an incredible amount of dignity.

"Perhaps that discussion can wait for another time," Charles sighed. Betsy certainly wasn't in any shape to be... sentenced, for lack of a better word. "Are you going to kick me out?" the girl in question snuffled.

"Honestly, my dear, I'm not sure what you would have me do. You've put us all in an incredible amount of danger. On the other hand, I now believe your actions were not entirely self-generated. I do sympathize."

"I... I don't want to go back to the Fellowship," she whimpered. "They hate me. They make me hate myself. I've... started to like it here, with you guys. You make me feel like I can be a good person, even though I..."

"Hush, child. I don't tolerate hate speech at this institution, even when you are speaking about yourself." He glanced at Alice, and she nodded. Apparently Miss Braddock believed herself sincere. That complicated things. His head pounded. "I won't make a rash decision. For now you will stay here, under supervision. I hope you understand that until our current predicament is resolved you cannot be allowed your freedom."

"Y-yes sir. Thank you -"

"_Don't._ Sean, would you mind seeing Miss Braddock to the cellar? I believe Raven's lost device is there. Please fit her with it and arrange a rotating guard, if you would be so kind." Sean rose and took Betsy by her wrist. She didn't seem inclined to fight him. "And Sean? Keep a tight lip. If our friend is allowed the option of remaining here, it wouldn't do to have her classmates privy to the details."

_Saint Xavier. Just when I've decided you're the world's biggest asshole, you go and ruin it. _

He managed an exhausted smile. _I live to disappoint you, Alice, you've truly no idea,_ he told her silently.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The Brotherhood's War Room was a far cry from the Professor's study, and Mystique, still reeling from the fight and the pain she'd seen in Charles' eyes, couldn't help but wonder what the fuck was so great about steel that every surface in this place had to be made from it.

"I don't see our friend Dr. Xavier." Magneto's deep voice was cold and biting. "Unless he's here, unbound, and managing to make himself invisible."

"No sir," she replied quietly.

"Perhaps an explanation, then. If you would be so kind." Beside him, Emma Frost snorted derisively. Mystique despised that woman, right down to her perfect Aryan looks. She felt the frigid fingers of the Frost's mind scratching across the surface of her own, and in her current mood, couldn't help reflecting on the contrast between the White Queen and her own gentle brother.

"He had a bodyguard," Mystique replied shortly.

"Wolverine," Frost presumed gleefully. "I've sensed that wretched creature lurking around for months. Where's the blood?"

"Actually, I didn't see Howlett there. It was someone else, a woman Charles called Kalliope. I underestimated her badly, and the moment I tried to take him, she attacked." Frost was frowning, peeved at being corrected. Magneto cut them both off smoothly.

"Kalliope," he repeated, tasting the name. "I haven't heard of her before. You say she attacked you. With what power? I'm assuming she is strong?"

"She's an empath, if I had to guess. And yes, she is very strong. As soon as I touched the Professor she had me on the floor."

"She projected?" Magneto was surprised.

"Overwhelming horror, sir. The device didn't seem to block it at all."

"Empaths read, maybe manipulate if they're any good," Frost sniffed dismissively. "They don't _project_."

"This one does," Mystique snapped, stung. "She probably did read my intentions, but her reaction was instantaneous. There wasn't time to be manipulated, I just... felt."

Magneto was tapping his fingers together thoughtfully. "What did she look like?"

"Pardon?"

"Her appearance." He raised a brow at her, daring her to ask another stupid question.

"Honestly... non-descript. I thought she was human. Kind of small, dark-ish hair. Her eyes were her only distinct feature. They were really, really green." Mystique shuddered, remembering that last look.

"Did she speak to you?"

"I..." She thought about it. "No. In fact, she didn't speak at all. Not even to Charles, at least not out loud. Why?"

But Magneto had lapsed into that pensive silence that sometimes came over him before a battle. "Hmm," was all he said.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Raven's motives may have been bad, but her info was good. The Fellowship attacked at midnight on the day proscribed. Thankfully, a little preparation was all the school needed to divert disaster.

Jean Grey, a quiet 8 year old with a prodigious mind, silently dismantled the modified dampeners worn by the agents from a safe distance, while the Professor froze them on the lawn. Unearthly shrieks from Sean and heavy rain from Ororo hindered any he'd missed until they could be dealt with. Alice held the rest of the children in the cellar, wrapping them in a psychic blanket of comfort while the skirmish wound down outside.

Alex and Hank gathered the frozen enemies in a loose circle, and Charles wiped their minds one by one, planting suggestions as he went. At last they were all dead asleep in the grass. "Fly them out, Dr. McCoy," Charles said wearily. "Drop them somewhere public, and don't let anyone follow you home."

"They'll be back, Professor," Hank said softly. "Maybe not these men, maybe not even this group, but they'll come."

"I know." Charles sighed. "Stryker's behind this. Short of breaking into the CIA and turning the man into a vegetable, I'm not sure what can be done."

"It might not be a bad idea," Alex muttered.

"We're still the better men, Mr. Summers," Hank chided.

"For now," said Charles.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The teachers worked together to get all the children into bed. Alice went from room to room, touching foreheads, easing heartbeats. Her face when she finally made her way out of the dormitory reflected her exhaustion, but she was smiling.

_That was well done, Charlie_, she told him.

"A little too close for comfort in my opinion, but I'll take it," he replied, returning her smile. "Sit down, dear heart, you look right done in."

She shook her head. _I need a moment to myself. I'll be in the garden if you need me._

"I understand completely." He reached for her hand, kissed her knuckles lightly. "Be safe."

The sound of the door slamming back open woke him from his light doze, and for a moment he thought Alice had returned having seen something outside, until his mind brushed the intruder's. "Logan!" he started, taken aback.

"Did I miss the fight?" the man demanded breathlessly.

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Hardly a fight," he said stiffly. "More of a domestic dispute, really." The clawed man remained tense, and Charles softened. "But yes, it's over now. No casualties."

Logan took a deep breath, relaxing. "Good," he replied shortly. For a few beats the two men regarded one another awkwardly. Then Charles reached for the decanter, and Logan unwound enough to sit. "How is... everyone?" he asked, struggling for the right social niceties.

"We've been well," Charles said gently. "Miss Cantor is outside, if you were wondering. I believe she needed some time alone after tonight's events, but she is otherwise unharmed." He slid a drink across the desk and Logan gulped it gratefully.

"Is she mad?" he said after he'd swallowed a good ounce of liquor. "That I bailed, I mean."

"Not that I can tell," Charles said carefully. "I do not think she was ever really angry with you to begin with."

"She's too nice," the man muttered. "You're all too nice. It's gonna get you killed."

Charles smiled wryly. "We've managed this far, and I daresay we'll muddle on." They smiled at each other, momentarily peaceful, and at the edge of the woods Emma Frost felt the Professor's mental perimeter shrink slightly.

"Now, Azazel!" she hissed. Alice didn't even sense the red man as he blinked into existence behind her and slid the syringe into her neck.


	5. Chapter 5

"You brought her _here_?" Mystique was shrieking.

"Get a grip, sugar. We need to know what we're dealing with, after all."

"You have no idea what you're doing! That woman is fucking dangerous!"

"We're all dangerous. What's a little extra for a good cause?"

"Stupid bitch," the blue girl fired back. Emma glared at her. "I'll have you know I've an IQ of 170. Who's the bitch now?"

"I don't care if you're Albert Einstein's daughter, you're still an imbecile. Were you even listening to what I said before? The psy-shields _don't work on her_. She'll stop your damn heart!"

"Enough!" Magneto roared, startling them both. "Mystique, hold your tongue. Frost, explain yourself." Changing tactics, the blond sidled up to him, hips swaying.

"You seemed interested in the girl yesterday. I thought I'd arrange a meeting," she purred. Unaffected by her display, he fixed her with an icy glare.

"Out of line." He paced up and down the room. "However, since she's here, we might as well take her measure." The metamorph stiffened.

"Sir, you have no idea -"

"Silence! When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it, Darkholme. Where is our guest, Miss Frost?"

"The blackout room," Emma responded quickly. "She can't project anything from there. As long as she's fully surrounded the shields hold."

"Good," he barked. "Walk with me."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Through the fuzz of the security camera display, the girl didn't look like she'd aged a day since that meeting in the pub. She sat across from Emma at the steel interrogation table, her handcuffed hands laid casually in her lap. He could see by her posture she was still a little woozy from the serum Azazel had given her, but she held herself with dignity. Mutant and proud, he thought with grim satisfaction.

"I'll get in one way or another," Emma was saying irritably. "You might as well make it easy on yourself." The girl gave an enigmatic little shrug. So she was blocking Frost. Interesting. Life with Charles must have given her some advantages.

Emma felt a deliberate thought pulse out from the other woman, and the clarity of it gave her pause. _What's your name?_

"You can call me the White Queen," she replied after a moment, nonplussed.

_Kalliope. Charmed, I'm sure. _

"Well. Aren't you just the sweetest thing," Emma smirked.

_Not really_, was the calm response, and suddenly a wave of fear washed over Emma's skin. "Quit it!" she snarled, sending a spike of mental pain towards the girl. She felt gratified when 'Kalliope' winced. "You can play hard to get all you want, you know. I love a challenge."

_It's a shame we can't converse civilly_, the girl thought. _You're very beautiful._

"Don't build me up, buttercup," Emma quipped, feeling a little prickle of flattery despite herself.

_I understand from Charles that you have another form_, said the girl. _ I'd love to see it for myself. Would you show me?_

The blond considered her captive thoughtfully. What would it hurt, after all? She rested her hand on the table, letting her diamond skin spring up from the fingertips to the wrist.

_Brilliant,_ came the thought, and if it had been aloud it would have been breathless. _I can see why you chose your name._

"Much as I'm enjoying this little heart-to-heart, I'm really more interested in getting into your brain," Emma redirected, increasing her mental pressure. This kid could give Shaw a run for his money in the charm department.

_Precious thing_. The thought was rueful. _Allow me my remaining mysteries_. All of a sudden, a bloom of lust Emma was wholly unprepared to combat unfurled in her belly. She gasped, her eyes clouding.

Magneto saw his second in command slump towards the table, panting, and even without having heard half the conversation, realized the telepath was out of her depth. Wordlessly he unlocked the door and stalked into the room. "You're dismissed, Frost," he said.

"I'm fine," she breathed. "Fuck, do that again." He put pressure on her metal buttons and she seemed to come back into focus. "Out," he ordered, and she exited without further comment. He turned his attention to the woman in the cuffs. "How do you do, Miss Cantor?" he greeted.

Now that he was face to face with her, he could see the tiny crinkles around her eyes that hadn't been there before. He was unsurprised that Alice's eyes had been the main impression Mystique had taken away from their unfortunate meeting. They really were remarkable... a faint memory came to him. Equally intense blue eyes, reflecting flashes of light off a dark sea. He steadied himself, pushing a spiral notebook across the table. An ink pen floated up from his pocket and settled itself alongside. "Let's catch up," he suggested with a predatory smile.

She took up the pen in her cuffed hands, managing to look like a bit like a secretary taking shorthand. He moved to stand behind her, both for the intimidation factor and to be able to read her answers. "How long have you been with Dr. Xavier?" he asked.

She studied her hands, then shrugged. _A few months_, she wrote.

"A sudden interest in mutant affairs?" he said wryly. She gave him an unreadable glance over her shoulder. "How did you come to join him?"

_I needed a job_, she wrote. _He offered to take me on._

"Doing what?"

_Teaching. _

"Teaching." He laughed shortly.

_Sign language, among other things. It's lovely work._

"Very well, Madam Cantor. How many students do you teach?"

She smiled slightly. _No comment._

"Please. What could I possibly do with that information?"

_Something unpleasant, I'm sure._

He sighed. "And we were doing so well." With barely a twitch of his fingers, her hands were raised to her neck, the chain of the cuffs digging into her throat. He moved to the side, watching her. For a moment she appeared alarmed, then she relaxed into it, passively letting the metal press her. An old image rose unbidden in his mind. Charles, spread out on a comforter, the silvery threads of a Star of David chain wrapped around his birdlike wrists and pulling them over his head. Blue eyes looking up at him from the bed, bright and non-resisting, sparkling with affection and desire. "What are you doing?" Magneto demanded harshly, yanking her hands against her until she began to struggle for air. Through it all, she smiled.

With a huff he released her, pacing back to the other side of the table. She picked up the pen, heedless of the reddening marks on her throat that would soon turn to bruises. She passed the notebook to him, and he reluctantly looked down.

_He still loves you_, _Erik_, she'd written. _He wants you to come home._

With a snarl he picked up the notebook and used it to slap her hard across the face. When she looked up again, a scarlet bead of blood ran from the corner of her mouth, but her eyes held only pity.

"Score one for Mystique," he hissed, and slammed the door behind him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Gone. And you have no idea who took her," Wolverine said flatly.

"I… no. I won't make excuses." Charles ran an angry hand through his receding hair. "I must speak to Miss Braddock. She may know something…"

"I'm coming with you," the other man stated.

"Logan, I'm not sure that's wise."

"Do I sound like I'm asking your fucking permission?" And that's how they all ended up in the kitchen, Sean leaning neutrally in the corner, Elizabeth seated at the head of the table looking frightened but stable. Charles opened his mouth to speak, but Logan held up a quelling hand.

"Betsy, that's your name?" Logan asked the girl, his tone conversational. She nodded, on her guard.

"Okay, Betsy. What do you think my mutation is?" Every other face in the room reflected surprise at this random question, but Logan seemed content to wait for an answer.

"Um, y-you… have claws. Metal claws."

Logan made a noise like a game show buzzer. "Bzzzt. Wrong. I wasn't born with these." Casually, he let a few inches of metal slide out from between his knuckles, watching the way Betsy's eyes followed them. "Any other theories? No? Then pay attention." Slowly he let the claws retract. Everyone observed, mesmerized, as the red rents in his hands immediately began healing over, blood drying quickly and flaking off of his skin. "That's my mutation. I heal myself. Real fuckin' manly, right?"

"Language," Charles murmured.

"Let me do this my way," Logan countered, but his voice held little heat. "I _said_, it's a real badass talent, ain't it? Healin' myself. Makes me a real menace to society, don't you think?" Betsy was silent, wide-eyed. "What do you think I did for a living before all this? Go on," he encouraged, "give me your best guess."

"I, I, I don't know. A soldier?"

"I was a farmhand. A nice man and his wife adopted me and my brother when I was a kid, and I got my kicks hoeing rows in Alberta. Good life, you know? Fresh air, plenty to eat, a few rolls in the hay with the neighbor's daughter. Then when my dad died, I decided to go to the city, get an education. Maybe learn a trade, like, I dunno, accounting. What do you think? Makes me a monster, right?"

"N-no," stuttered Betsy.

"Interesting opinion. Anyways, when I got there, I met some of your humanist friends. Maybe they didn't call themselves the Fellowship of Humanity then, but you catch my drift. I got to know 'em, seemed like real stand-up people, we bought each other a few drinks. Maybe I got into a scuffle one night at a bar, maybe we got to talking about how I don't stay injured very long. It was all very friendly. What do you think happened next, Bets?"

"I don't know," she said quietly. Her eyes had dropped to the table.

"I'll tell you," he told her cheerfully. "They liked me so much, they introduced me to a pal of theirs. A doctor pal. He said he'd help me get set up as a medical scribe, you know what those are?"

"They take notes."

"That's right, they take notes. And when we got to his practice, you know what he did?" She hunched into herself, miserable and unresponsive. His voice turned hard. "That nice doctor tied me down to a table and cut me open, and spent the next four years welding metal to my bones. All of them." Charles stiffened, feeling sick. In the corner he could hear Sean's horror. "The thing about anesthesia, _Bets_, is that it doesn't work so great on us self-regenerators. Burns off in about ten minutes. So after a while the doctor didn't even bother with it. Even if I'd wanted to die from the pain, I couldn't, so it didn't really matter to him. Hey, Betsy, you still listening? I'm trying to tell you a fucking story here."

The telekinetic gave Logan an agonized look. "Stop it," she whispered hoarsely. "Why are you saying these things?"

"Because, _little girl_," he said bluntly, "you need to make a choice." She stared at him in horrified consternation. He forged on, unmoved. "So I'm going to ask you one more question. Why do you think that doctor did what he did?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" she screamed, her voice breaking.

"Do you think he did it because he wanted to make a better world? Because he wanted to protect humankind? I'll tell you what I think. I think the son of a bitch did it because he could. I think to him, I was like a lab rat, or a dog. When he was done, he told me I was his finest creation. The first time I ever killed anybody was the day I broke out of that hellhole." He paused, letting that sink in. "That doctor's name was Abraham Cornelius. He's a flagship member of the FoH, and still works with them today, the old fuck."

Betsy was sobbing heavily, her nose leaking. Charles had to admit his own eyes were more than damp. He'd wanted to know more about the wild man he'd taken in, but this was too much. Logan leaned into the table, massive and intense. "So what's it gonna be, babe? You wanna keep working for these people, helping them take out the farmhands of the world? You wanna be the next Wolverine? Or do you want to stick by Chuck here, and keep that shit from happening to the rest of us?"

"Go to hell!" the girl railed.

He shrugged one muscular shoulder, undeterred. "Now's the time, kid. It's too late for me, but it ain't too late for you. _Make a choice_." Silence filled the room.

Slowly, Betsy brought herself under control. She stared down at her hands, at the remnants of her own tears and snot on the tabletop. She looked at Charles.

"I don't want to be like them, Professor," she said, the tremor in her voice fading. "I'll help you, with whatever you need." He looked into her mind for good measure, but he already knew she was telling the truth.

"Thank you, Miss Braddock." She inclined her head toward him stiffly. "Please. Did you tell your contacts about Alice Cantor?"

"Yes," she said in a low voice.

"And what was their reaction?"

"They were… interested. I'm sorry, Professor. I liked her a lot."

He was gentle. "Did they take her?"

"Please believe me." She let her almond eyes meet the faces of everyone in the room, and they were honest eyes. "I just don't know."


	6. Chapter 6

Mystique slid into the darkroom, purloined keys clutched tightly in her scaly hands. She didn't dare turn on the overhead lights, so even with her mutant eyes, the shackled woman in the chair seemed ghostly.

Her trepidation hadn't been enough to overcome her need for answers. Even so, faced with the creature who'd caused her such pain, she was afraid. Steady, she told herself. Any answers she could get would be worth it, as long as she was brave.

The girl stirred, and Mystique felt those green eyes settle on her with a prickle of fear. They were sleepy now, their intensity like banked coals. She steeled herself to speak. "Please don't hurt me yet," she requested softly. "I'm not here to pick a fight." Silence pooled between them, gravid and tense. "I just want to know… about you. About Charles. I promise, I won't ask anything you can't answer."

The woman regarded her emotionlessly. "Is he alright?" Mystique burst out. The petite woman studied her, then inclined her head. Yes, Charles was okay. She sighed. "The FoH didn't get them," she said, half question, half statement. A faint nod was her answer. "You have to know I regret it. Hurting him, I mean." Silence.

"Why can't you speak?" the blue woman asked at last. "Is it… were you born like that?" Time passed, and Mystique almost concluded that there was to be no reply, but then the other woman's shoulders relaxed. She reached up with cuffed hands and slid her collar down to the clavicle. In the dark, Mystique could see the white reflection of a scar at the base of the woman's throat, just over the place where her vocal chords would begin. "You were injured?" she guessed.

An guarded expression. "Someone injured you," Raven revised. "Who?" Silence. "Mutants?" No. "Humans?"

A brief nod. "They do that a lot," she said, feeling a burst of sympathy. "Why you?"

A precise series of hand motions, before the empath remembered signing was futile. Shifting gears, she mimed something. It was as if she held a microphone. Her mouth moved soundlessly. "…Singing?" Mystique deduced. The woman went still. "You were a singer?" A dip of the chin. "Why would that make someone hurt you?"

Glittering eyes in the dark. "Oh. Something to do with your mutation, I'm guessing." No response. "You must have been truly formidable."

A long susurration of air. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry. I just want to figure things out. You say my brother is well, but… I guess maybe I've been away too long. There's so much I want to know. How did he meet you? How is his work going? When did he get so… ready for a fight?"

Those green eyes softened, and Raven felt the play of foreign emotions stealing through her body. _Love. Forgiveness. Sorrow. Regret. _ She breathed deeply, her eyes watering. "I don't understand," she breathed. "I don't know what you're trying to say."

_Pain. Betrayal. Forgiveness. Longing. Kinship._ "Are these Charles' emotions?" Raven gasped, finally making the connection. "Are you showing me how he feels?"

A firm nod.

"Oh God," she said, some long-held unhappiness breaking apart inside of her and giving way to light. "Oh my God, I have to go back."

A brilliant smile flashing in the dark.

"I'll tell him you sent me," Raven said, her voice full of tears and gratitude. "I'll give him your love."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Raven," he said, and his voice was cold. The kind of cold she thought had died with Kurt Marko almost two decades ago. For a moment she wished fervently she were back at headquarters, safe from the uncertainty and turmoil of this haunted old house. Give Magneto credit where he's due, but he could never pull off _disappointment_ a tenth so well as Charles Xavier.

"I'm sorry," she said simply. He breathed into the air of the study, and his face was so suspicious, so closed. She held on to the faint echoes of the feelings Kalliope had sent her, and stepped closer.

"Forgive me, I forget you don't go by that name any longer. What do you want, _Mystique_?" She didn't quite have the words yet, and he made an impatient noise through his teeth. "I'm rather busy at the moment, if you were unaware."

"Looking for someone?" she supplied, and he stiffened in his chair.

"You can tell me now, or I can rip it out of you," he warned her grimly. Her heart stuttered. "She's at the Brotherhood. Frost brought her. She's unharmed." His jaw clenched, and his eyes closed.

"Thank you," he bit out after a moment. "Now. Please leave."

That broke something in her, and she was rushing forward, heedless of the way his ink-stained hand rose defensively to his brow. "Charles, Charles," she cried. "Read my mind." He hesitated. "Read my mind, brother, read it now."

He did, and if he was a little less finessed at the moment, a little less gentle than she remembered, she understood. She gave him all her conflict, and he sifted through it rapidly, pausing on her last conversation, pulses of static coming off him in little bursts. At last he withdrew, and she fell into a graceful crouch beside him. A hand made its way to rest on her red hair, and a long-held tension left her shoulders.

"I never meant to hurt you, Raven," he said quietly. "All I ever wanted for you was your safety."

"But we're _not_ safe, Charles. We never have been," she replied sadly.

"You think I don't know that? Dearest, you are brave and brilliant and fierce, but you don't hear what I hear every day. The world is darkness and pain and you were a rare light. I won't regret my selfishness in wanting to preserve that."

"Magneto gave me my freedom," she answered. "I can't regret that either. I was sick of the shadows, Charlie - I can't go back to what I was. But," she hesitated, "I was hoping you'd let me stay anyways. From time to time."

He smiled at her a little, not the old transcendent smile of yore, rather a sad smile that took a long time to reach his eyes. "I can deny you nothing. You've got me by the heart."

"I love you to pieces," she answered honestly. "Even if you're completely insufferable." She stood, and his hand trailed down to clasp her fingers.

"I need to speak to the team," he said, and she let their hands fall apart as he wheeled himself to the door. At the threshold, he looked back at her, waiting. She looked back. "Well?" he said finally, his tone impatient. "Are you coming?"

Giddiness surged through her, and she hurried to catch up.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Magneto eyed Frost irritably as she exited the darkroom, looking flushed. "I really like her," Emma breathed happily. "She's _fun_."

"Yes, a barrel of laughs," he said darkly. His voice went sharp. "Don't go in there again without my permission, or I'll rip that silver filling right out of your pretty head."

"Killjoy," Frost grumbled, but she made herself scarce. He slammed into the room. Cantor looked fairly pleased with herself. Frost had brought her food and water, along with what looked like a wash cloth and a toothbrush. Magneto wondered what the girl had done to garner so much coddling, then decided he didn't really care. He slapped the notebook down on the table. A rusty smudge still decorated the corner where the spirals had split her lip.

"I'll cut to the chase. I need to speak with Charles. This little feud has gone on long enough, and there is work to be done. You're going to help me." She raised an eyebrow at him, and took a noisy bite of apple. He ground his teeth. "I have a number of ways to make you cooperate. I'm not a gentle man. Your continued good health is merely a diplomatic courtesy, and that can change right now. For your sake, I suggest you **pick up the fucking pen**."

Green eyes assessed him. With a little sniff, she tossed the apple on the desk and began to write. She slid the book over to him. _I need to pee_, it said, _and I wouldn't mind a shower_.

"You'll hold it, or you won't. I don't really give a damn. What I want is Charles."

_He'll be glad to hear it. Anyways, don't trouble yourself. He'll be along shortly._

He sneered. "With what directions, exactly? I know your kind. If he'd known where to find you he'd have been here, standard waving, two nights ago."

She shrugged. _Call it a hunch. In fact, why not wait outside together?_ She tapped her nose. _After some bathroom time, of course. You know how he hates it when we don't dress for dinner_.

****Okay! We're about halfway done here, and I'm thinking I might give you guys a sexy treat next chapter. Let me know what you think.****


	7. Chapter 7

****This chapter contains some… extra mature content. You have been warned. **

**Also, Charles and Erik fight a lot. I feel this is the proper dynamic for them. They should either be fightin' or sexin' at any given moment. Hope you all agree.****

Magneto paced the makeshift foyer, murderously impatient as the light from the riot-proof windows faded to amber. His younger crew members seemed to find 'Kalliope' irresistibly fascinating, and kept popping into the room on one pretext or another. Frost was the worst, batting her eyelashes endlessly at the girl and pouting when she didn't get a wink in return. A wave of calm washed over him, stilling his feet, and he relaxed into it instinctively before turning to give the empath a glare. She shrugged, unrepentant.

"They are?" asked Emma, startled from her game. "Oh. So they are. Chief, the X-Men are here."

"What?" he hissed.

"Alice says we should go out and meet them."

"Oh, it's Alice now, is it? Fine. Toad, Azazel, come." He practically dragged Cantor out the door by the wrists, maddened by her inexhaustible insouciance, but she just stumbled along cheerfully, head swiveling to take in her surroundings as she sought out the signatures of her allies.

Beast was still flying that monstrous machine, or something close enough to be its twin, Magneto noted. And he was still blue, and rather appealingly fuzzy, and he was helping Charles down the ramp in a clear plastic wheelchair. The man that used to be Erik Lensherr swallowed tightly, momentarily paralyzed by old guilt. Till Alice touched his shoulder, in a manner surely meant to be comforting, and he realized this whole situation was too fucking ludicrous for words.

A roar in the distance, and suddenly 200+ pounds of muscle and adamantium was hurtling towards them. "Logan, _really_!" came Charles' aristocratic voice across the field. Magneto was amused. He let the larger man get within ten feet before he froze him with a flicker of his fingers. "Alice!" the man growled, straining against the power that held him. "_Alice!"_ She checked the automatic urge to step forward, mindful of her surroundings. "Shhh," she soothed, making placating gestures with her bound hands.

Then Charles was wheeling up, his crew behind him, taking in the situation with quick eyes. He gave Magneto a shadow of the lazy twinkle that used to haunt his mornings. "A lot of work for a little conversation, Erik," he said drily. It was then that Magneto took in the blue woman at Charles' side. His mouth tightened.

"That explains a few things," he snapped. "Tell me, is he still calling you by your slave name?"

Mystique huffed, rolling her scaly shoulders. "What do you want from me, boss man? You needed Charles, so I invited him over. Here he is, so talk."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, wondering when everything had slipped so utterly out of control. Charles was patting his sister lovingly on the arm, and rather than stiffening up, she was giving him a fond look. Fucking Xavier gravity. The man was a menace.

"First things first," said the Professor in his best teacher-ly voice. "You've got one of my staff, and I would like her back. Now, if you please."

"Hey!" The Wolverine snarled. "He's got me, too!"

"If you'd behaved yourself you wouldn't be in this situation, old chap. Still, it is rather rude of Erik to keep you. It would be nice of him to let you go."

"Spare me the dinner party routine, Professor," Erik - no, _Magneto_, damn it - barked. "I need something from you, and you are going to help me, and then you can take your comrades and go."

"Straight to negotiations, Erik? Very well," Charles pondered. "Alice, would you...?"

Erik's guard fainted around him, Emma flashing to diamond before Charles mentally knocked her into the dirt (Note to self, Magneto: Charles Xavier laughs at mini-dampeners). In an instant Erik had drawn out Wolverine's claws and held them, along with the man himself, to Alice's throat. Howlett's horror was palpable. "Impressive, Charles," Magneto grinned. "When did you get so ruthless?"

"The moment my first student died in your service," replied the blue-eyed man, his trademark smile bitter.

"You can't possibly blame me for Angel," Magneto said, frowning.

"That's the beauty of a broken heart, my friend. I blame you for everything." One man inhaled sharply, the other exhaled sadly. "You know, if you'd really wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was take off that ridiculous helmet."

"I know you too well."

"You don't know me at all."

"Charles -" He broke off, inexplicably tired. "Do you really want to have this conversation here?"

Even with Logan's claws pressing into her throat, Alice was rolling her eyes. "Seriously," the big man growled. "You two need to get a room like, yesterday."

"I will rip the metal from your living bones, wolfman."

"I almost want you to, just to see the lecture Chuck would give you."

_ENOUGH!_ Charles blasted, and even Magneto caught that one. Emma stirred groggily on the ground. "I'll help you with Stryker - honestly, don't be insulting, of course I knew. Let Logan go and take Alice out of those absurd handcuffs. And for God's sake, take us inside before we all die of radiation poisoning. Lord, Erik, the places you hole up in."

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Magneto had endured the inevitable tearful reunions with what he personally considered exceptional fortitude. He steadfastly refused to recognize the feeling he got as he watched Charles pepper Alice's face with kisses as jealousy. Though he couldn't help remembering what it felt like to be kissed like that, little butterfly touches on his cheeks drawing him up from slumber. Slender ink-stained hands on his bare chest, on the sensitive patches of skin just over his kidneys, on his... mmm, no. _Not _doing this now.

They sat in his echoing foyer and Magneto noticed for the first time how odd it was that all his walls were made of metal. It was like being in a submarine. Ugh, not doing _that_ either. Logan refused a chair, curling up like a large angry Indian on the floor and pulling Alice into his lap. He was still on full alert. Alice, however, had promptly given in to sleep deprivation and was currently drooling on the man's tank top. That left Hank and Alex to fidget nervously around a metal coffee table next to the Professor. Mystique sat on the table between her brother and her boss.

"I agree he has to be stopped," Charles was saying, voice low. "But blowing up the weapons facility is not acceptable. There are men and women with families in there who have no idea what Stryker is doing. Not to mention these demonstrations of yours are making it extremely difficult for Dr. McCoy's lobbyists. There are laws being written, Erik. Laws neither of us want to see passed."

"Why do you still persist in believing these… political games… are going to change anything? For heaven's sake, Charles, they attacked your home. Stryker was going to take your children and turn them into weapons. He was going to plug you in to some kind of death machine. What more has to happen for you to wake up?"

"I may be surrounded by madmen, but I refuse to do as the Romans, thank you. If you want my help you are going to have to be reasonable."

"You are seriously going to try and take the moral high ground here? When mutant lives are at stake? Fuck you and your lily-white hands, Charles, you are too naive to live, let alone speak!"

"Men!" Mystique growled frustratedly. "Magneto, you know what he's like. Winding him up is only going to give you a headache, and I mean that in the most literal way possible." She glanced meaningfully at her brother, who despite his saintly face was fully capable of petty vengeance when riled. "And Charlie, you are laying it on a little thick. We all know if Stryker was here you'd melt his brains out his ears."

"Don't call me Charlie," he muttered peevishly.

"Don't act like an eight year old, then," she shot back. "Can't you two just do what you used to do? Compromise? I think we can all agree that a) the Weapons X program needs to stop, now, and b) anti-mutant laws are bad, so let's figure out a way to achieve goal one without hurting goal two."

"Fine," Charles snapped. "No explosions, no unnecessary bloodshed. But we take Stryker out."

"We _kill _Stryker," Erik countered. "And anyone knowingly involved in his shit." Charles made an irritated noise. "You can't stop me," Erik warned. "I'm going to do the right thing whether you like it or not."

"The _right thing_," Charles scoffed. "You're completely mental. But fine. If you get to them first, do whatever the hell you want, I wash my _lily-white hands _of it. If I get there first, I'll wipe their minds, and you'll leave them alone, or so help me..."

"So help you what? You'll make faces at me? You're not my keeper, Charles!"

"I never wanted to be, you sanctimonious twit! I wanted a partner, not a subordinate! But you can't suppress your thirst for violence for one bloody second -"

"I'm not a warmonger, I just wanted someone who wouldn't grossly ignore every ounce of experience I ever -"

_! _was the wordless emanation from the corner, where a very grumpy Alice was glaring blearily from the cage of Logan's brawny forearms. The metal-kine and the telepath paused, belatedly looking around the room.

"To be fair, Charles, your faces are absolutely terrifying," Magneto resumed in a normal tone of voice. "Please do not inflict them on me lightly."

"Dear man, my face is a glorious tool I save only for special occasions. You should be so lucky."

They smiled grudgingly at each other across the table, and unbeknownst to one another, each man's heart beat a little faster.

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A long brainstorming session gave way to a restless night in the Brotherhood compound. Magneto had more than enough space for Xavier's people, although he was sure it was a long shot from the comfort and warmth of the manor. Sean and Alex took a room together, Mystique wandered off with Dr. McCoy and a bottle of vodka, and Logan hauled the empath off to God knows where, probably a supply closet where he could watch the door obsessively and growl like a bear at anyone who walked down the hall. That left the good Professor alone in the nicest bedroom Magneto could scrounge up - his own. Dithering for a moment, Erik grabbed some towels and a set of maroon pajamas he knew would probably be two sizes too large for Charles' shorter frame.

He found the younger man staring at his cast-iron bed from that stupid plastic chair (and by the way, _really_? Could he have been more obviously insulting?) as if it were a puzzle he were trying to work out. Concentrating, Erik lowered the legs so the mattress was a little more accessible. He got an irritable blast of blue for that.

"I brought you something to sleep in," he said, for lack of anything better to say.

"Take that damned helmet off," Charles snapped.

"Professor -"

"Don't Professor me! I said _take it off_."

Magneto considered his former lover. "I'll take it off when you remove yourself from that wretched chair," he said finally. Huffing, Charles hoisted himself up in a practiced move and flipped onto the bed. "_Now_, Erik," he commanded. Erik took the helmet off and tossed it onto a desk.

"I made you a perfectly nice metal one," he muttered petulantly. "All kinds of gears and gadgets." He felt a flicker of telepathy, and growled. "Stay out of my head!"

"I'm not in your head. I'm just touching you."

"Well, don't!

"Oh, for the love of - will you _shut up_?" Those blue eyes were glittering strangely. "Five years, Erik. Five years you left me alone in this hell of a mind, and now you won't even let me touch you?" Xavier hunched into himself, struggling to push his lower half around so he could turn his back. "Go on then, put your damn hat back on. See if I care. Stupid ass." A nearly invisible tear crept down the still-boyish planes of Charles' profile, and Erik broke. He scrambled onto the mattress, laying his hands on the other man's shoulders. "Damn it, don't _do _that," he whispered. "I _hate_ it when you do that."

He wasn't imagining the way Charles leaned into his hands. The man's arms were certainly more muscular than they'd been the last time they'd touched. Erik let his thumbs move in circles over the smooth fabric of Charles' shirt. "Why now?" the telepath asked wearily. "I waited for you to come, but you never did. So why now?"

"Oh, Charles..." Erik sighed. "I... didn't know what to say."

"How about, 'I'm sorry for pushing a coin through your head?' Or maybe, 'I'm sorry for almost making you watch me murder 1000 men,' or 'I'm sorry for making you choose between your family and my love, and then leaving you to die on foreign soil?'"

"Damn it, Charles. I didn't make you choose between me and your family."

"You bloody well did!"

"No, I made you choose between me and the backstabbing humans." A tense beat. "And you chose them."

"I chose _us_. I chose the future where we didn't have to lead an army of children into a war we couldn't win. And for your information, _you_ are the one who didn't choose _me_." With a jerk, Charles buried his face in his hands.

"Is that what you think?" Erik said quietly. "That I didn't want you because you wouldn't agree with me?"

"It's fine," Charles said hopelessly through his fingers. "No one ever chooses me."

Erik wrapped his arms around him then, burying his forehead in the crook of Charles' neck. "You stupid - idiotic - I chose you when you stopped me that night at the CIA! Even if I got out of Cuba first, you're the one who left me on that beach. If you'd told me to stay, I would have stayed, humans be damned. All I ever wanted…" Here his voice broke shamefully. "All I wanted was a little loyalty, and you couldn't even give me that."

Charles' head whipped around so quickly their skulls clacked together, but he was too angry to even wince. "Loyalty?" he demanded harshly. "And what was I doing when I held Shaw for you? You act like that whole scenario was so _easy _for me, that I got everything I wanted and you got nothing, but I compromised myself, because I loved you, because I knew that you had to kill him to ever be at peace, and then you turned around wearing the bloody ghoul's _helmet_ and - all my pain meant nothing, you were just going to kill them and throw all our work away and I was supposed just give you up to it -"

"Well why didn't you fucking say that, then? All that _scheisse_ about being the better men and peace and diplomacy, you knew I didn't give a shit, you could have just told me what you needed! I would have done it for you. For you, Charles, not for the humans, not for a better world, for _you_."

They were face to face now, shouting at each other, green eyes to blue. "I _hate_ you!" Charles yelled, spit hitting Erik's face.

"No you don't," Erik spat back, and kissed him firmly on his cherry mouth. Then it was all hands and lips and teeth in a frantic flurry of motion, as the telepath tried his best to climb into Erik's skin. Scholar's fingers scrabbling at his turtleneck, desperate for contact. "_I love you, I love you_," Charles panted in-between kisses. Erik felt a laugh bubbling up in his chest that hadn't been there for five years.

"That was a fast turn around," he chuckled helplessly, grabbing Charles' wrists. "Slow down, _Liebe_, slowly now. I'm of a mind to make this last."

"_Years_, Erik," Charles growled, finally succeeding in removing the metal-kine's shirt. Quick kisses to his chest followed, little jabs of warmth that made him shudder.

"Shh, yes, I know," he murmured soothingly. "We have all the time in the world." A flick of power had Charles' belt sliding away from his hips. "Lay back for me," he ordered, and rewarded his cooperation by pulling his trousers down those too-skinny legs. He wrapped a calloused hand around the man's hard length and gave him a gentle squeeze. Charles' head fell back on the pillow with an audible whump, and he moaned. Fuck, he'd missed this. He moved his mouth down, lapping slowly.

"God, Erik, you're killing me," Charles wheezed. Charles made the best fucking sounds. No one made sounds like that. Erik took more of him, increasing his pace. He felt a sweet stab of foreign pleasure down his spine, and he remembered what it was like, dreaming Charles' dreams, waking up hard in the night to bring them to reality, waking up in the morning to lips on his face and fingers on his cock and feeling so damned loved it made him ache. He was going to melt that fucking helmet. He knew that thought had slipped out, because Charles moaned again, and he was coming, coming on his tongue and it was _perfect_.

Charles was recovering underneath him, the stress lines fading from his angelic face. He reached pale fingers up to swipe shakily through Erik's hair. Their minds were tangling now, knotting together. Erik shifted against him and felt a phantom pain when he realized Charles couldn't buck up to meet him. "It's a little different now," the telepath said timidly. "I can't exactly…"

"Hush. We'll make it work." They kissed languidly. "Wait, years?" The thought occurred to Erik. "So you haven't… with anyone…?"

"Don't get smug," Charles sighed. "And don't tell me about your own conquests, I don't want to know."

"If it's been that long, I'll hurt you," Erik said doubtfully.

"You'll be gentle," Charles corrected, before his smile turned wicked. "Or you won't, and I'll like it. Scratch that, I'll _love_ it."

"You little wretch," Erik growled, scrabbling for lubricant and working his fingers to where they needed to be. "_Hnnng_!" the other man whimpered. Erik spent a little more time than necessary making his lover squirm before arranging him properly. Then he began the torturous process of pressing home.

"Oh, shit!" Charles gasped. "Can I please… will you let me…"

"_Yes_," Erik snarled. "Get in my mind, feel yourself. Feel how tight you are, you fucking tease." He pumped him a little, trying to be patient, but this… God, _years_, and as Charles' own impressions flooded his mind he lost it. Got lost in it. Nothing mattered but this… oneness… this feeling, and all the little sounds between them, the ache, the sharp pleasure, the exponential build towards -

He exploded with a sob, burying his face in Charles' maple curls. They breathed heavily together, hearts and lungs in sync. "_Ich liebe dich_, you idiot," he whispered into the man's hair pathetically. Vulnerability weighted him to the bed like a stone.

"Just so you know," Charles panted. "If you ever do that again, you'd better put a rail spike through my heart. Otherwise I'm coming after you, and I'm giving up my conscientious objector status."

"_Liebling_," Erik said slowly, trying not to smile. "Is that your posh way of saying if I leave you you'll kill me?"

"Sodding right it is."

Erik kissed his sweaty forehead. "I'll take that under advisement," he said solemnly.


	8. Chapter 8

****You guys! Every little review and message and favorite makes me so happy, you don't even know. Major thanks to everybody! You make a silly girl like me feel warm and safe.****

Contrary to the vivid imaginations of his compatriots, Logan was not a complete animal. He carried Alice to a corner room, kicking the door shut behind him and placing her on the bed before returning to shove a metal chair up under the doorknob. It wouldn't stop Lensherr but it might put a dent in anyone else's efforts to get in, and Logan had a feeling Magneto was a little distracted by Chuck just now anyways. The whole afternoon had been an endless exercise in sexual tension.

Alice was sitting up, pulling off her shoes and tossing them across the room. She wiggled her toes and yawned widely. He slid onto the bed next to her and took her chin in his hand, turning her towards him and examining her swollen lip and the yellowing bruises across her cheek and neck. "What happened to your face, little girl?" he wondered aloud. She shrugged at him philosophically, reaching up to run nimble fingers over the back of his hand. He huffed, his breath fanning warm over her cheekbones. Her eyes were full of questions he didn't know how to answer. _Affection. Amusement. Worry? _

"Okay, yeah, so I freaked out a little today. Sue me," he grumbled. This was getting uncomfortable, so he pulled her into his lap. At least with her head on his shoulder he didn't have to look her in the eye. _Incredulity. Humor. Fondness. _ "Fine. I freaked out a lot. You happy now? Brat." She snuggled into his chest, unfazed, and he drew his arms around her more tightly. "You scared the shit out of Chuck, you know. I thought he was going to have an aneurysm." She patted him. "I told him not to sweat so much. You're like a roach or something, I think you're impossible to kill."

She didn't laugh often, but when she did it was weird, a quiet "Hhh, hhh, hhh" noise through her nose. She did that now, sending warmth and comfort to him along with her laughter. Already he was beginning to feel safe, like he was invincible. "How do you do that?" he asked her, trying and failing to sound stern. "It almost feels real." _Sleepiness. Love. Reassurance. _

"Christ, when he put my claws up to your neck..." he muttered. "I can't even say it. Anytime anything happens to you I fucking lose it and you're stuck putting the pieces back together. You're wasted on me, you know that? You're too good for me. One day you'll wise up." He nuzzled her short hair. "It'll be better for you when you do."

She pulled back gently, looking lovingly in his eyes. Then she slapped him across the face. He goggled at her. "The shit was that for?" he asked in confusion. She snorted, and he got a distinct impression of frustration rolling off her. She folded her arms across her chest. "Women," he sighed, shaking his head. "Even when they're not talking I have no idea what the hell they're trying to say."

She shifted closer to him, letting her head fall back against his shoulder. She yawned again, and he surprised himself by yawning too. "Okay, doll. Time for bed, yeah?" She nodded tiredly, her hair tickling his neck. Nice as this was, they couldn't sleep propped up against each other, so he slid his hands under her arms and laid her back on the mattress before yanking the quilt out and covering her. He made to lie down on the other side, like an honest-to-God gentleman, but a slender hand shot out and grabbed him by the ear. "Jesus, what?" he groaned, rolling back towards her. Instead of an answer, a cold little body tucked itself up against him, burrowing like a cat until both the Wolverine and the blankets were arranged to its liking. "You realize I'm a man, right?" he asked her in a frazzled voice. "You sleep with your ass pushed up against me like that, you're probably gonna wake up to something poking you." He heard her weird little laugh, and felt her pull his heavy arm down around her waist. Relaxation was pouring off her, seeping into his bones. He yawned again. "Fine," he told her as they drifted off. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

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Breakfast was an interesting affair. First chance he got, before anyone got a hint of what he was about to do, Wolverine punched Magneto square in the jaw.

"LOGAN!" shouted Charles.

"That's for hitting my girl, you son of a bitch," the big man said with grim satisfaction.

Brotherhood members had scattered into attack formation, X-men had moved to defend. It was Frost who first noticed that Magneto wasn't even looking at the wolf man. He was looking at the Professor, and his expression was… guilty. Whoops. All heads turned towards Dr. Blue Eyes, who had his hand on the empath's bruised neck and was slowly building up steam.

"Erik," he asked smoothly. "Is this true?" The Brotherhood mutants all experienced the dubious pleasure of seeing their leader's cheeks flush a mottled pink.

"Erm…"

"Erik, we do NOT HIT WOMEN!"

"She was a war prisoner!" the man protested half-heartedly.

"Erik!"

"What? Like, never, under any circumstances…"

"Never. I would _never _abuse a member of the fairer sex," Xavier intoned righteously. Mystique snorted. "That's a damn lie," she declared. "Excuse me?" Charles snapped.

"Don't worry, Magneto, Charles hits me all the time," she said reassuringly.

"I do _not_," the Professor huffed, "hit you all the time. I hit you _one_ time, and you were not a woman. You were a seven year old delinquent who had just defaced my first edition copy of _Hound of the Baskervilles_!"

"Always with the justifications." She examined her iridescent fingernails blithely as her brother opened and closed his mouth like a fish. "Can we eat now? We kind of have an important thing to do later today." Charles glanced towards his quasi-lover's penitent expression, and exhaled. "Alice, darling, are you all right?" he asked the girl, tenderly turning her face towards the light. She patted his head, trotting back to sit at a table next to the Wolverine, who was matter-of-factly piling a tin plate with some sausage links. No, correction, _all _of the sausage links. Other members of the party looked like they wanted to protest but didn't quite dare. Alice, apparently immune to his force-field of terror, reached down and grabbed a piece to pop in her mouth. He made no move other than to shove his plate closer to her, and slowly everyone gathered to sit down.

"So we all agree," Magneto was saying. "Azazel will transport, and remain outside to take any captives we rescue back to the base. White Queen and Mystique scout first. Toad, Riptide, Havoc and Banshee on the front lines, you four will take out any hostiles that Frost and Mystique do not neutralize. Banshee, at least some of them will have dampeners or helmets, you'll need to incapacitate those people first and take the devices from them. Beast, you'll fly in behind us as backup transport and work on their power grids here," Magneto indicated a spot on a set of blueprints, "or here. Take out power if you can, but focus on disabling any alarms or communication devices first. The Professor and I will go in last and head straight for Stryker. Our priorities are, one, take out Stryker and his command team, two, rescue any mutants they've been experimenting on, and three, disable the facility and destroy any data it has accumulated. Is that clear? Are there any questions?"

"What do you want us to do with the humans we take down?" the mutant named Toad asked. It was clear from his tone that he was unused to working with non-combatants, and the new dynamic made him nervous.

Magneto slid a finger under his helmet, rubbing his temple. "If they are a continuing threat, take them out. If they're not, put them somewhere out of the way. We're keeping this mission as low key as possible." At the phrase 'take them out,' everyone saw Professor X wince, but he said nothing. Magneto's austere face twitched in what might have been a half-smile. "Be gentle with the women if you can," he added grudgingly. Frost and Mystique both snorted, but Xavier's eyes brightened. The tension in the room dropped a few degrees.

"That leaves one more thing. Alice - Kalliope - will you fight?" Green eyes met green eyes. The slim woman's expression was thoughtful. Her gaze flicked over to Charles, then Sean and Alex, and she gave a quick nod.

"She ain't going without me," Logan growled.

"I suspected as much. Very well. Alice, you'll be with Frost and Mystique. Wolverine, you'll be with -"

"_No,_" the big man interrupted. There was a moment of collective silence.

"No?" Magneto asked coldly.

"I already told you. I go where she goes. _Together_, or you can fuck off."

"Alice? You concur?" The empath held his gaze and nodded once. Magneto forced his jaw to unclench. "Then the two of you will have to go with me and the Professor. Wolverine is too obvious to be anything but a dead weight to the scouts, and you're wasted on head-to-head combat. So you'll help me find and deal with Stryker, and your comrade will bring up the rearguard."

"Erik," said Charles softly. "Perhaps Alice and Logan should stay back and assist with the rescued captives. Azazel may need protection, and Alice is extremely adept at calming the frightened."

"No, Charles. Of the mutants in this room, Kalliope is the strongest, save you and I. Leaving her behind to play nursemaid is akin to fighting with only half your ammunition." He glared across the table at the woman and her hound. "You said you were with us, did you not?" She inclined her head. "Then I require your full potential. End of discussion."

****I know this was kind of.. filler..y. Next chapter equals action, and wrapping up my frankly terrible plot-line. Let me know what you think!****


	9. Chapter 9

****Thanks, everybody! Warning: this one gets a little dark.****

Hank was happily ensconced in a control room, tinkering with wires and buttons, and Charles could feel Alex and Sean's satisfaction as they cleared out stragglers further within the compound. So far, everything had gone unnervingly well. No alarms had gone off, no swarms of enemy aircraft were descending. There was just one tiny little problem. "I thought all government facilities were required to be handicapped-accessible," Charles stated blankly.

"It seems our friends are operating outside the law on several levels," Erik retorted drily. "Hmm..." he pondered. Then he made a sort of dismissive noise through his nose, and stepped towards the telepath. Charles' eyes widened.

"No!" he blurted. The man smiled that infuriatingly toothy smile. "What's the matter, darling?" he crooned.

"Erik, you are not carrying me through the building like some kind of... swooning maiden! I absolutely refuse!"

"What do you suggest we do, then? Might I remind you that if you had not left the rather magnificent chair I made for you behind in a fit of pique, I could have just lifted you over any obstacles and brought your transport with us."

"Well, make another one, then."

"Oh yes, very good," Magneto said sarcastically. "I'll just use my powers to fabricate a complex bit of machinery on the spot. While you're waiting, why don't you write us up a quick genetics textbook? _Honestly_."

Charles was not pouting. He was not. "It was just a suggestion," he muttered peevishly.

"I spent a week on that chair, for your information. It was a labor of love. Not that you noticed. Now come here..."

"No! This is idiotic!" A noise from behind them made him jump. Logan had cleared his throat. "I can carry him," the big man said neutrally. Charles relaxed fractionally.

"Oh, when _he_ offers it's fine, is that how it is?"

"You weren't even planning on including him in this excursion anyways. This way your hands will be free."

"_Fine!_"

"_Lovely!_" They snarled at each other.

Alice broke the tension by stepping forward. She proceeded to mime something enthusiastically, hooking her fingers and raising her arms to slash them through the air, her teeth bared in an exaggerated grimace. Charles snorted. Magneto raised a brow. "...You'll need to run that one by me again," he blinked.

"Pay attention, Erik!" Charles snickered. "That was _clearly_ Wolverine fending off a horde of CIA agents. I believe what Alice is trying to say is that Logan may also need his hands free at some point." He and Alice then continued their conversation mentally, Charles nodding occasionally. Magneto fidgeted, and Logan glowered. "Yes, that's an excellent idea. Erik, do you think you could manage a harness or a tether of some sort? I could ride pig-a-back, as it were."

Wordlessly Erik siphoned metal from the building's entry-way, winding it into cables. With an air of resignation Logan knelt down in front of Charles, back to him. "Put your hands on my shoulders, Doc," he said patiently. He slid his arms backward, fumbling for the Professor's hips. "Hold on tight. This will probably feel weird," he warned before he stood carefully, hefting the smaller man's nerveless legs to his waist.

It certainly was an odd sensation, Charles thought a little dizzily. He hadn't ridden pig-a-back since before his father died, and this time he couldn't even grip his carrier with his legs. He clung to Logan's neck nervously, trying to relax and let himself be arranged. "All right?" Logan asked gruffly. "Marvelous. I feel ten feet tall," he replied bravely. He nodded to Erik, and metal cords snaked around the two of them, tying him firmly into place.

He felt some odd little tugs, and looked down to find Alice arranging his clothing. Magneto studied the set up with a furrowed brow. "I don't like it," he said finally. "If something were to happen to me or the wolf-man, you'd be trapped."

That garnered a strange reaction from the mild-mannered Professor. He looked up at his comrades, his eyes glowing like lasers, and despite being carried like a child, for a moment Charles was the most frightening thing any of them had ever seen. "Dear friends," he said distantly, "if something were to happen to any of you, I can promise you it is not _me_ you should be worried about."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

With the power out and the emergency lights blinking red at intervals along the walls, the facility was undeniably creepy. The four mutants made very little noise themselves, save for Logan's occasional "Watch your head, Chuck," when ducking through doors.

Walls were painted with the cheap industrial eggshell paint that all office buildings seemed to purchase in bulk and the rooms were filled heavy non-descript pinewood desks and taupe metal filing cabinets, here and there a cubicle with little touches of forced hominess - a picture of a smiling family, a joke calendar, a novelty tape dispenser. The "front line" had done a thorough job of removing any signs of battle; Alice ran across a supply closet filled with neatly bound, unconscious agents. Magneto scowled, but Charles noted the rise and fall of their chests with profound relief. They made their way towards the center of the compound with relatively quiet hearts.

_Any rescues so far?_ Charles put out into the ether.

_Got a couple of kids here_, Alex broadcast back. _Sean's taking them to Azazel._

_How are they?_

Hesitation. _Physically they're mostly okay. Psychologically... it'll be a relief to get out of this place._

_I think we're almost to Stryker. Hang in there_. Out loud he said, "Take this hall. I can feel a blank spot down towards the end." An almost inaudible rumble of anticipation worked its way through

Wolverine's chest. Magneto nodded tersely and strode forward, cape flapping. Absently Charles wondered if anyone else in the history of the world had ever worn a cape quite so... sensuously. Not that the damned thing wasn't utterly ridiculous, but somehow Erik made it work. "Calm your mind, Logan," he murmured gently, just as Alice swept a warm blanket of reassurance over both of them. She smirked upwards, clearly amused by the faint pulse of lust she'd felt coming off him, and his ears went pink.

The door at the end of the hallway was not standard-issue. It was heavy steel, with three locks and a deadbolt. Why Stryker thought this would be effective was anyone's guess, as Erik simply wrenched the whole thing off its hinges. "You could have just unlocked it," Charles chided. That got him a dismissive snort. The walls of the room sobered them. They were plated with thick psy-null material, as was the device on Stryker's head.

"Professor," said the man smoothly. "What a treat. I've been hoping you'd visit." In his hands was another contraption, this one pointed straight at Charles' head.

"Plastic," Magneto said tersely, frozen mid-stride. "Clever." This is not what sobered Charles, however. His attention was on the space at Stryker's side, where a pale young boy sat in a wheelchair not unlike the one that had remained outside. His dark hair was plastered to his white forehead with sweat. He was bony, his eyes staring and his pupils blown wide. Tubes ran out from the base of his spine, cloudy with unidentified fluids. Worst of all was his face. It was spread in an insane rictus of a grin, an expression that belonged on a bog mummy, not a child.

"Charles, this is Jason. Jason, say hello to our guests," Stryker grinned. Overwhelming pain struck the Professor, and he cried out. Magneto jerked into motion, but Stryker merely waved his plastic gun. "Ah-ah," he said. "We haven't had our conversation." Charles was abruptly, violently ill on Logan's shirt.

"Is that your son!" he choked through his vomit. "Did you do this to _your own son_?"

"I have to admit, when it became clear what Jason was, I felt very disappointed. That was only until I realized how useful he could be," Stryker confessed placidly. "To put it bluntly, he produces a chemical that controls telepaths. Neat, don't you think?"

"_Monster_," Charles gasped. He heaved. "Ugh, Logan..."

"Don't worry about it," the big man said quietly. He was very obviously struggling to hold himself in check. Charles, similarly, struggled to fight his way through the miasma that was Jason's aura. Behind the men he could feel Alice ticking. She was deliberately broadcasting _helpless, gentle, non-threat, exploitable_ into the atmosphere, and Charles for the life of him couldn't understand why.

"Aaaanyways," Stryker drawled. "I wanted to show you what I've been working on. It was inspired by Dr. McCoy's little experiment. I call it Cerebro II. Want to see?"

"No, thank you," Charles managed, injecting as much coldness in his tone as he could muster.

"Oh, but I insist. You see, I need your help. Finding mutants. Destroying mutants. Creating a better tomorrow, all that jazz." Magneto was clearly struggling to hold back an 'I told you so,' proving once and for all that he was an insufferable bastard who deserved no oral sex forever. "Metal-man, you're being awfully quiet. Why don't you unwrap the good doctor here so I can show him around?"

"Go fuck yourself," Magneto snarled.

"Alrighty then." Raising his arm, Stryker calmly shot Erik in the left shin. Erik swallowed his howl of pain, gritting his teeth so hard Charles could almost hear them cracking. "I've got eleven more of those loaded, so don't get any ideas." Stryker surveyed the room. His eyes lit on Alice, who up until now had managed to make herself emotionally invisible.

"Well, well," he said amiably. "What's a pretty little freak like you doing with these assholes? Come here, darling, tell us your name." Alice stepped forward timidly, passing her hand over her throat and mouth and shaking her head. "Can't speak? That's okay, that's just fine actually. A silent woman is a gift from the gods." He beckoned her further. "Come stand by Jason, baby-doll. Don't worry, he doesn't bite." She moved where she was ordered, her body language cowed and submissive. Stryker smiled.

"See that tube by your right hand? Grab hold of it for me, there's a lamb. I'm going to hand you a syringe, and you're going to draw some of the fluid out of that port." He considered her pityingly. "The round hole-shaped spot at the end there. You'll put the needle through the rubber and suck some of the yellow water out," he elaborated, as if Alice were mentally challenged. He held out the syringe, and she took it tremblingly, turning back around to place a tender hand on Jason's filthy forehead. Charles watched through a haze of confusion and pain as she turned her expressive eyes to the child and dove deeply into that insane stare.

_Tell Logan and Erik to get ready_, she pulsed at him briefly. _And tell Logan I love him_. He didn't have time to protest before Jason gave an unearthly shriek. He began seizing in his plastic chair, spittle frothing up over that ghastly grimace.

"The fuck?" Stryker hissed, his hold on the weapon faltering, before a blast of horror hit him head on. He squeezed the trigger reflexively and three plastic bullets careened wildly into the paneling of the opposite wall. "Now, Logan!" Charles cried, and the big man surged forward, catching the edge of Stryker's helmet with his claws and flipping it off to the floor. Erik had a floor lamp wrapped around the man's torso in a matter of milliseconds. Jason was still, a sickly trail of blood escaping his nose. Alice had slumped to the floor, pale and boneless.

Shaky and reeling, Charles lifted a hand to his temple. Erik had limped over to Stryker and currently had the monster by the hair, yanking his head back viciously. Charles looked at him, bound and broken, and felt a curious hole where his pity used to be. "You'll tell me everything," he promised grimly.

And Stryker did.


	10. Chapter 10

****Warning! The last section of this chapter contains sexual acts between consenting male adults. If that is not your thing, look away, dear reader!****

They had a little trouble when it came time to leave. Alice was still out cold, and a wounded Erik couldn't even carry himself, let alone her. Wolverine may have been pure muscle, but even he found three bodies a difficult load. In the end he carried Charles out of the shielded room. Still half-in-shock, Charles managed to reach Alex, who brought the rest of the inside team and got them rolling.

Magneto steadfastly refused to be carried, and instead leaned heavily on a rather put-upon Mystique. As they came out, Charles stirred. "The boy?" he whispered weakly.

"No pulse," Erik answered shortly. "Whatever Kalliope did, he didn't survive it."

"Stryker?" Logan growled. Fury flitted across Magneto's face. "No," Charles moaned. "I don't want to know. Just... take us home, please. _Please_, Erik."

The metal-kine softened. "Of course, _Liebe_," he murmured. Sensing the tension between them, Mystique helped Erik limp towards her brother. He cupped the Professor's face with a faintly bloody hand, rubbing the skin there until the younger man's head dropped onto Logan's vomit-stained shoulder in exhaustion. The group made its way slowly outside, where Magneto unwrapped Charles' drowsing form and Sean and Alex carefully pulled him off of Logan's back and settled him into his chair. Logan stretched, spine popping, then strode to the ramp where Hank held Alice in his lap. "Give her to me," he demanded.

"Shouldn't you really..." Dr. McCoy spluttered.

"Give her to me," Logan repeated, and his tone brooked no argument. Wordlessly Hank stood, holding steady while Logan collected the unconscious girl and cradled her against his chest. As soon as she was settled, Logan tuned the rest of the world out. He made his way up the ramp of the plane, focused completely on the trip home and the woman in his arms.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The manor was eerily silent as Erik unlocked the door for his band. He felt a sharp stab of panic. Charles stirred in his chair, opening one blue eye. "You think... we would leave them here... undefended?" he mumbled thickly. "They're in... safe house. Bring them home... tomorrow."

"Hush now." He leaned on the handles of the chair, both pushing Charles and using it as a crutch. "You're not well. You need water and rest, and I need to get this plastic out of my leg."

"Hank..."

"Dr. McCoy is with the children we rescued. We got three, did you know?" He paused, trying to figure out where the elevator was. He reached out to the metal, feeling for it. "We did good work tonight, Professor."

"Cerebro II... they're going to..."

"We'll destroy it. Don't fuss. They can't use it without you, and you are here with me. Safe."

Charles' voice broke a little. "Jason," he choked.

"Don't, _liebling_. The blame for that lies squarely on the shoulders of the madman who bore him. You could not have saved him." The elevator doors swooshed open, and he pushed Charles inside. He couldn't help smiling a little at the next words to come out of his mouth. "Calm your mind," he said, running a hand over the top of his lover's head. "Focus on me. I am here, you are not alone."

They made it to Charles' bedroom. Erik limped to the sink, dampening a washcloth with warm water and wetting a toothbrush. He returned, wiping Charles' lips and cleaning his teeth before forcing him to drink a large glass of water. Then he kissed the tear-tracks running down that boyish face until all the moisture was gone.

He put Charles to bed, not bothering to undress him except for the shoes. He got a first aid kit out of the cabinet and climbed carefully onto the mattress beside him. He cut the blood-tacky armor away from his wound and methodically began picking bits of bullet out of himself with tweezers, ignoring the pain to the best of his ability. Beside him, Charles stirred fitfully, and from time to time he would reach out, deliberately broadcasting the few happy memories he had, until the man's nightmares subsided. He felt chastised, and very small, and knew that until tonight he had not understood what this war could really cost. Charles, who by his very nature could not help but love everyone, felt even the loss of a stranger as a blow to his soul. Erik, who after the death of his parents had only truly loved one person, finally understood that to lose a loved one in a battle of your own making would be far worse than a reichmark through the head.

He bound his cleaned wound in gauze and compression bandages and crawled under the covers, reaching out to wrap his arms around the object of his epiphany. He burrowed his face into Charles' dirty hair and joined him in sleep.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A younger, pinker Hank McCoy had once been astounded by the square footage of the lab Charles Xavier had offered him. At the moment, however, it was a little too small. That may have been because of the throng of restless mutants.

"I can't reach her," Emma Frost said, frustrated. Hank wouldn't admit it but the icy female telepath intimidated the hell out of him. He suspected she knew anyways. She rested one perfectly maintained hand on Alice Cantor's forehead. How she'd managed to get through a fight with the CIA without chipping a single nail was anyone's guess. Perhaps she took a manicure set with her into battle? Too many variables. Not enough data. He wished Raven was here. Raven was scary, but nice. Nice-scary.

"It's like she's gone into a trance," Frost complained. "I'm in her mind but everything is just white noise. What exactly happened back there?"

Logan's deep rumbly bass was startling. "She scared someone to death," he summarized. Frost's eyes widened. "That's a neat trick," she noted admiringly.

"Debatable," the big man replied. "From what I've seen, empathy goes both ways."

"Huh," Frost frowned. "Unfortunately that makes sense." She regarded Alice's blank, closed face contemplatively. Logan stood, the chair he'd been sitting in creaking in relief. He stalked over to the stretcher and gave Frost a firm look. "You're done, right?" he stated. It wasn't really a question. She prickled, but moved away, telling herself it wasn't worth picking a fight with an oversexed cretin. He directed his attention to Dr. McCoy. "She's stable?"

"Ah... a moderate concussion, probably from when she fell. Nothing that bed rest and a watchful eye won't fix, but..."

"Good. Then we'll be going." Oblivious to Hank's censuring look, Logan scooped the woman into his arms and carried her off. "She needs fluids!" the blue man shouted after them.

"I'm on it," the clawed man growled back. And they were gone.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Charles woke in the early hours of the morning, a sharp reversal from his usual stubborn tendency to cling to his bed until half-past nine. He felt sticky, out-of-sorts, and his head was pounding mercilessly. He looked for his chair, and found that Erik had gotten one over on him in the night. Instead of sleek lucite, he found the metal monstrosity he'd formerly consigned to the basement waiting by the bed. If his head weren't currently splitting, he would have laughed.

He managed to heft himself into the contraption after a little maneuvering and found it surprisingly comfortable. Nevertheless he was gagging for a shower. He left the metal-kine sleeping and wheeled himself into the bathroom, wincing at the sudden burst of light when he flicked the overhead switch. He turned the shower knob to hot and fumbled with his dirty clothes.

"And just _what_ do you think you're doing?" came a disgruntled voice from the doorway. Erik stood there, shirtless and scruffy and looking entirely too sexy for four o'clock in the morning.

"_Quietly_, please," Charles grumbled, finally finding the last button and casting his own shirt into the sink. Erik softened. "Headache?" he guessed in a lower tone.

"Like you wouldn't believe." As if on cue, Charles' belt began unbuckling itself. With a grateful sigh he leaned back and let Erik remove the rest of his clothing, only exerting himself briefly to lift his torso and allow the trousers past his hips. "Come on then," the older man said, stooping down to wrap strong hands around his waist. "Into the water."

"I'm not a child," Charles protested half-heartedly.

"Thank God for small favors," Erik grinned. "Otherwise fucking you could get awkward." He lifted Charles easily, settling him onto the shower bench before limping out of his own pants to join him. "You're incorrigible," Charles murmured, smiling in spite of himself. "Just hooked," Erik demurred. He reached up for the detachable hand-piece and directed a stream of steaming water onto Charles' head. Charles hummed blissfully, feeling the tightness in his head and neck loosen. From a mental distance he heard a cap pop and smelled his own shampoo, then Erik was lathering his hair. His fingers felt like heaven. "_Hmm_, Mr. Lensherr. Where have you been all my life?"

Erik's hands stilled briefly before continuing. "Off being a fool, of course," he said quietly. Charles reached a hand up and tangled their fingers together, squeezing. "Let's not and say we did, darling," he said, his voice equally soft. "Right now, all I want is this." A warm, hard body pressed up against his back. He felt Erik's growing arousal against his spine and he smiled to himself, utterly joyful with the knowledge that despite all the changes to his own body, he still had this power. He tugged at Erik's hand. "Come around, dearest. Let me look at you."

Erik obeyed helplessly, looking down at him. The older man's face was open, almost painfully vulnerable under the spray. Charles released his hand, choosing instead to settle his palms on the bones of Erik's hips. "Now then," he purred contentedly. "I've heard of a new cure for headaches. Shall we try it?"

Erik's pupils dilated, but he put a restraining hand on Charles's shoulder. "You shouldn't... do that. Not after being so unwell..." Charles leaned forward and gave his partner a long, firm lick, and Erik's hand fell bonelessly away.

"Any more objections?" he asked mischievously, and even through the steam the heat of his breath was palpable against Erik's cock. Not trusting himself to speak, he shook his head, swallowing thickly. Not one for preamble, Charles wrapped his scarlet lips around him and swirled his tongue. Erik made an involuntary noise, something like a whimper. A _manly_ whimper, he told himself, before Charles sank down on him and coherent thought fled entirely.

God, the man was good at everything he did. That mouth felt so incredible, and it had been so long... deft fingers cupped him and he shut his eyes tight, overwhelmed. German endearments spilled from his lips in-between frantic gasps for air, and his hand moved to Charles' head to grip sodden curls. A faint scrape of teeth drew forth a desperate moan.

"Charles, _Liebe_, sweetheart, you must... _mein Gott_ so _good_ but..."

_Now Erik_, Charles projected reasonably. _If I pull away now, how will I cure my headache? I must drink my medicine, every drop._

"Fuck!" Erik yelled. "Fuck, fuck, ahhh...!" Charles hummed in sweet agreement, and that vibration was the last unbearable straw. With a violent shudder Erik came, feeling the muscles of Charles' elegant throat contract around him as he swallowed. He pulled away at last, dropping down to his knees and resting his panting head in his lover's lap.

Some time passed. "I thought I was supposed to be making _you_ feel better," Erik muttered to Charles' thigh.

"Oh, but I _do_," Charles said cheerfully, patting his shoulders. "Tip top, really. Worked like a charm, I'll have to keep this method in mind for the future." The Professor reached for his conditioner, popping it open. "Do my feet, darling, since you're down there."

All Erik could do was groan.

****We're getting very close to the home stretch, darlings! One or two more "main storyline" chapters and the possibility of a bonus scene later. Tell me what you'd like to see and I'll make my decisions. I crave your input.****


	11. Chapter 11

****This is it, guys! Last chapter. Thanks so much for all your help.**

**Tiny warning: Inappropriate Sean is inappropriate.****

Logan laid his human bundle down on the bed and ran an angry hand through his hair. "You're more trouble than you're worth," he told her irritably, wincing at the nagging tone of his own voice. Since when did he become a nursemaid? He longed for Alice to soothe him, and realized he was well and truly addicted.

She just made him feel so fucking safe. He hadn't felt like that since before Victor disappeared. With her he felt like he might be in control of his life, like there might be something to this 'belonging' crap after all. He still didn't particularly like being _needed_, per se. But being wanted was kind of nice. It sure beat the shit out of being lonely. Fuck, he was so screwed. So, so screwed.

"You realize if you crap out on me, I'm going right back to the streets where I came from," he explained to her unresponsive form. "Bleeding heart like you ought to feel a little guilty about that, seems to me." He considered. "No, that's not right. I sure as hell don't deserve it. But you put a lot of work into my fucked up self and I'd hate for you to waste it." Coldness stole through the room, and he reached for an afghan, tucking it around her absently. "I blow at this care-taker gig. It just ain't part of my skill set. Wake up so I can stop." She didn't move, and he didn't blame her. He tried another tactic. "I'm probably going to murder that metal guy. He got us into this so he needs to die slowly. Maybe I'll throw Chuck in for good measure, he oughta know better. Those two are kinda badass though, so who knows, maybe I'll be the one on the slab. Beats squatting in tenements." Maybe he was imagining it, but he thought he saw her fingers twitch.

"That's right," he continued, warming to his theme. "Picture me, the mighty Wolverine, on the run from the law after killing two men in cold blood. Over a chick, no less. Kinda Heathcliff. Think that's romantic, sweet cheeks? It ain't. Most of the places I hole up in, they don't have water or AC. I get sorta gross. Not that it matters, I mean the ladies can't keep their hands off me no matter how disgusting I get..." One green eye cracked open, and he slapped a hand to his chest to start his heart again.

"Oh hey," he wheezed pathetically. "Join the conversation."

_Massive irritation. Pain. Reluctant humor. _

"You hit your head," he told her, heart still pounding. _Bemusement. Curiosity._

"I was pretty sure you were gonna die," he elaborated.

_Reassurance._ Yeah, that's why he liked her. That right there. "You're a bitch, and I hate you. Just so you know." That earned him a tired smile, one he couldn't quite return. Relief was giving way to fury. He'd been really worried. The little shit. She reached for him, and he batted her hands away. "Uh-uh, no way, I mean it. I'm mad at you." She frowned, sensing it was true. She struggled to sit up.

"What are you doing?" he snarled. "Did I not _just say_ you hit your head? For chrissakes, you have to make everything so fucking difficult!" He put his hands on her shoulders, pinning her down. She scrabbled at his wrists fruitlessly. "Stop wiggling!" he bellowed. Big green eyes stared up at him forlornly. They watered.

"Don't you do it," he warned, panicking. "Don't you fucking cry. No! You are _not_ doing this right now." Tears spilled onto her cheeks as she wept silently. "Shit. Shit shit shit." He broke, gathering her up. "I'm sorry, okay? Don't do that. Oh, honey. Shhh..." She buried her face in his chest, her shoulders hitching. "I'm really bad at this," he muttered into her hair, rubbing her back. He rocked her until she quieted. He tilted her face up to look at her, trying to read whatever was written there.

"Maybe I love you, all right?" he said hesitantly. "Cut me some slack?" She stared at him. She leaned in closer. She pressed her lips to his. "Mmph," he rumbled, slanting his mouth over hers desperately, pushing his tongue against her teeth until she opened underneath him. He reached up to grab her head. She winced, and he jerked back. "Shit, concussion, right. I'm an idiot." He moved his hands back to her shoulders. "That must be the theme tonight."

She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him down to the mattress. They lay on their sides facing each other. She lifted an eyebrow. "What?" he asked warily. She tugged him closer by the hair and licked a slow, wet stripe up his jaw. "_Not_ a good idea," he breathed, but he didn't mean it, and the little brat knew damn well he didn't. Giving up, he slid his tongue into her warm, sweet mouth and kissed her till the world went dark.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It had been eight hours since Magneto and the others had left to destroy Stryker's dark Cerebro, and daylight had long since turned to dusk. Professor Xavier sat in his study, drumming his fingers repetitively on the open textbook he was supposed to be editing. He knew it was stupid - extremely stupid, considering the increasingly close nature of their relationship over the last fortnight - but he couldn't shake the nagging fear that Erik would not return. That the only sign of the Brotherhood he'd get was a puff of sulfurous smoke as his own men were returned to him, and then… loneliness. Another half-decade's worth of loneliness.

He heard the faint chime of the door, and reached out eagerly with his mind. Alex Hank Raven Sean Janos Azazel Emma…. no Erik. He passed a trembling hand over his eyes, willing the sick feeling in his gut to pass. It refused.

"Not exactly the homecoming I was hoping for," came a familiar teasing baritone. "Erik…" he breathed, uncovering his face to fill his eyes. The man lifted the helmet from his head, the hair underneath unflatteringly sweaty, and smiled. "What is it? You weren't expecting me?" Deep, painful breaths. "Charles?" Erik faltered.

"Still not comfortable being away from you," the Professor muttered. Erik was at his side in seconds, wrapping strong arms around his shoulders. "You didn't think I'd come back," he deduced, squeezing a little harder than was pleasant. Charles hung his head. "Honestly, Xavier, what do you get up to when I'm not here to stop you? Have you been at the gin?"

"Pah," Charles scoffed feebly. "Who would drink that swill when there's scotch." Erik kissed his hair.

"Little idiot. Listen very closely to me. I've got you now, and I'll be damned if I ever let go, you understand?" He moved around to face him, leaning back against the desk. "If I recall, you threatened me with an ignoble death should I try to escape," he teased, giving his lover an alarmingly toothy grin.

Charles took his hands in both of his own, gripping them tightly. "How are we going to do this?" he pleaded, needing to hear it.

"Together," Erik said promptly. Charles sighed. "Oh all right, it won't be easy. You're going to have to learn to stop fighting every step of the revolution. Undoubtedly there will be times I upset you, times your self-righteous rages will cause me to lose my temper. But for you, I can deal with it." He paused. "I hope you can say the same."

Charles took a deep breath. "I need to ask you a question."

Erik was wary. "All right," he said at last.

"What did you do with Stryker?" There was a long, pregnant pause.

"You know I killed him," Erik said flatly.

Charles took that in. He needed to hear it, to examine his own mind. War and death had always been so abhorrent to him; he'd always been so vehemently opposed to violence. He thought of Jason, the little boy who had been twisted by his own father into a soulless shell of hate and fear. He thought of Alice on the cold floor, and Logan's four years of hell. If he were completely honest with himself, he could find no fault in Erik's actions. Stryker deserved the death he'd gotten. Charles lifted his face towards his partner, and his eyes were peaceful. "I can live with that," he said simply.

Erik felt every muscle in his body suddenly relax, leaving him weak. "I… thank you, _Liebe_."

"I know you have your methods," Charles said softly. "I know you find my own… naive. But I think we can make it work, if we're truthful with one another." Erik was staring at him, grey-green eyes glimmering strangely. "The truth is I want you beside me. I don't want to do this alone anymore. I… need you."

"You have me," Erik affirmed, stooping down to kiss him fiercely. "I know what those words just cost you. I swear to you, you'll never have to be ashamed of me."

Charles smiled faintly, cradling Erik's head in his hands. "I'll hold you to it," he vowed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Mystique absolutely refused her old bedroom, declaring it childish and sentimental. Emma Frost, on the other hand, took to Westchester like a swan to water. She acted very much like a temporarily embarrassed queen who had just returned to her throne. Decorating ensued forthwith.

Azazel seemed entranced by the grounds, spending long hours popping in and out of the woods and gardens and generally making a spook of himself. Janos surprised everyone by being delighted with the children, especially Ororo (who swiftly developed an epic case of hero worship). Charles offered him a teaching post, and got a happy burble of Spanish in return.

Toynbee proved the most recalcitrant. "He's a sap," he told Magneto angrily. "He's going to put an end to the Brotherhood, and all you care about is getting your dick wet."

"Are you blind?" Magneto shot back. "Charles Xavier has done more for mutant-kind than you could possibly comprehend. Don't mistake his pacifism for weakness. He is without a doubt the strongest ally we will ever have. Make an enemy of him at your peril."

"Says his bitch," Toad scoffed. He quickly regretted it when he found himself pinned to a tree. Magneto smiled his shark's smile.

"Know this, Toynbee," he said through rows of gleaming teeth. "The X-Men's enemies are now the Brotherhood's enemies. We are one cause. Leave, or don't leave, but if you stay you will keep a civil tongue."

Struggling to hold on to his defiance, Toad spoke again. "What will you do if I don't?" he challenged. Magneto waved him off, loosening the metal that held him with ease. "Like I said, if you endanger the school, it's not me you have to worry about." He strode off towards the manor, leaving Toad to think very hard about his life.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

_Two years later:_

"Is Wolverine… whistling?" said a small girl with a white streak in her hair. Her tone was incredulous. Sean looked up sleepily from his sunny window, fondling Milo's decrepit ears.

"Yeah, he does that occasionally." He yawned. "Mostly when Alice gets home from recruiting." He vividly remembered rescuing this kid from Stryker's madhouse. She'd come a long, long way since then.

"Miss Cantor?" Rogue said curiously. "What does she have to do with anything?"

"Mmm. Ahh."

"Does he, like, miss her or something?" Rogue prodded, sounding jealous. Sean knew the girl had a little crush on Logan, and privately wondered if she were insane. He took pity on her. "Look, kid, that ship has sailed."

"What ship?"

"I mean, Logan loves Alice. Seriously loves her, if the number of people he's stabbed for touching her is any indication. She's pretty gone on him too. That noise you're hearing right now? That's a 'I-just-got-laid' whistle."

"Oh, _gross_!" the six-year old moaned, waving her hands.

Milo turned over, exposing his fluffy white belly, and Sean scratched him contentedly. "Tell me about it, kid. Tell me about it."

THE END

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****I've been thinking about a possible Alice x Logan bonus chapter. You want? Let me know.****


	12. Bonus Chapter

****So this is the bonus chapter I made to say 'thank you.' Fair warning: this is way more X-rated than I usually go. If you still want to risk it, buckle up.****

The first time he heard Alice speak, it was a throaty whisper, and it was the most gorgeous thing he'd ever heard. "_Move, you son of a bitch_," is what she said.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Go fuck yourself," Logan said amiably, walking away. The nefarious Magneto, destroyer of dreams and enemy of humankind, had other ideas, and froze him in the middle of the hallway. "I wasn't done talking to you," he continued smoothly.

"You can't have my stems or my seeds or whatever the shit you're talking about. That seemed like a good place to end the conversation to me."

"Stem _cells_," Hank McCoy corrected earnestly. "The applications are still in their infancy, but theoretically we could repair injuries, reverse illness…"

"Charles," supplied Magneto grimly.

"Charles what?" echoed a cultured voice behind them, and Logan smirked at the sight of the Brotherhood Leader jumping about a foot into the air. Professor Xavier surveyed the group, and his expression gradually took on a horrid green cast. "I… you want what? Good God, Erik, you can't…!"

"Chuck thinks your idea is full of shit," Logan translated.

"How could you ask my… my…"

"Pet?" offered Erik grumpily.

"My_ friend_," Charles snapped severely. "To do such a thing, without even bothering to consult me… the grossest negligence, Erik, the absolute gall…"

"How could I not?" Magneto demanded loudly. "Charles, you could _walk_! You -"

"Not Logan's responsibility! I swear to heaven -"

"You know, it could help Alice too," McCoy interrupted meekly. Three heads swiveled back to gape at him. "Her vocal chords are still alive, just scarred. With regenerative cells…" Well, gee. _That _was a horse of a different color. Wordlessly the big man held out his arm, as if Hank had a sample kit suspended somewhere about his person. "Oh, sorry," the furry doctor said sheepishly. "I'll need to take fluid from your spine."

"Cool," said Logan, shucking his shirt and tossing it at a speechless Magneto. "Lead the way."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It turned out to be spinal fluid, marrow from his shin bone, AND a blood sample. Hank might have gone for some brain tissue too, but Charles descended upon the lab in a righteous fury before McCoy could drill through Logan's skull. Eh, he'd had worse. It wasn't like anything stayed broken anyways.

The Beast and the Professor holed up together after that (much to Magneto's displeasure) and only emerged when the need to eat or pee became catastrophic. Xavier seemed delighted to return to his genetics-genius roots - well, delighted and scruffy. However much the hair on his head was receding, it turned out the Professor was fully capable of growing a caveman beard when he was too 'busy' to shave. Hank may have become slightly more whiskery but honestly, who could tell? The dude was covered in fur all the time.

Two months later a mad, filthy gremlin in a wheelchair burst forth from the depths waving a large syringe. He may or may not have shouted "EUREKA!" and cackled ominously. Therapy (-cough- _experimentation_) began post-haste.

"This is the fourth night in a row you've snuck into my room," Wolverine observed to the darkness. "Since it's currently three in the morning, I have some theories. One, those shots are giving you nightmares. Two, you're waiting until I'm too sleepy to kick you out before crawling into my bed. Three, some combination of the above. Feel free to hold up fingers if any of those are right." A chagrined Alice held up three fingers, and he nodded. "Thought so." He shifted, laying an arm across the bed in invitation, and she crawled under the sheets beside him to tuck herself against his ribs. Her breath was hot against his neck.

"Does it hurt?" he asked her curiously. She shifted, her little breasts rubbing along his body, and he fell silent. "Never mind," he huffed, resigning himself to another blue-balled morning. She honestly had no idea how frustrating she was…

He heard her silent laugh, and went stiff. "Stop peeking," he hissed angrily. He felt her shrug, and then he felt something new. She lifted herself up on twiggy arms and climbed on top of him, lowering her lips to his face. She licked her way into his mouth, and he groaned, a long tortured sound that had been building inside of him for months.

His arms came up around her. God, the weight of her, sprawled legs akimbo over his hips. She wasn't heavy, but she was _hot_. She had to feel the effect she was having, Christ even _he_ couldn't ignore it. She trailed her sweet tongue down his straining throat and his hands tightened convulsively on her waist. Oh_ fuck_. Then she bit into his clavicle, and things went hazy.

He flipped them over, looming above her prone form like a predator. He scraped his teeth over her jaw, nipping, mouthing, all the while grinding himself into her. She tangled her hands in his hair and wrapped her legs around his hip-bones and he felt like live wires were winding around his body, shocking his skin. "You like that, babe?" he growled into her mouth, and that earned him another breathy, insolent laugh. She fucking_ laughed_. With a snarl he sucked the skin of her neck between his teeth and clamped down, his grip on her torso punishing, and her back arched until there was no more space between them.

Her pelvis was moving against him in tight little circles, heat and friction and desire, so he yanked the nightshirt up her body over her head. She was bare beneath. "Sweet _Christ_," he groaned. "Have you been like this every night?" Her eyes gleamed up at him in the dark, catlike and full of mischief. "_Bitch_," he rasped. She slid a hand between them, palming his erection, and he pressed himself helplessly into her palm.

Wolverine had always been of the opinion that there were very few things better than a mouthful of tit, and he gave in to that preference now, slanting his starving mouth over her right breast and drawing its peak between his teeth. He tongued and sucked and tasted until his conquest was wriggling beneath him, panting with longing, and then he moved his head down until he could snuffle and lap roughly at the center of her need. "Oh yeah, he whispered smugly, using his hands to pin her swiveling hips to the mattress. "You want it bad, don't you. You _need _it. You're _begging_ for it, aren't you?" He licked another stripe up her belly, watching her face contort. "I got what you need, babe," he crooned.

He shoved his boxers down, brushing away her fluttering attempts to help. He moved back up her body and settled himself between her knees, grateful to feel her legs immediately twine around him as he devolved into mindless want. She cupped his cheeks and planted hot, fervent kisses on any patch of skin she could reach as he slid his fingers across her groin and found her heat. He positioned himself, struggling for coherency. A jerk of his hips, and he was half within her. She _hissed_, and he froze, maddened by the simultaneous need to protect and to claim.

She shifted underneath him, clasping him tight. "_Move, you son of a bitch_," she growled, bucking up towards him, and it was the single greatest moment of his life. He didn't waste it, obediently thrusting up until he felt her warmth surround him entirely. She clawed at his shoulders, one set of bloody stripes healing just as she inflicted another, and the mixture of pain and pleasure drove him on, faster, faster, FASTER, oh f_uck_, and the mixture of harsh breaths and fledgling moans against his ear was making him insane. Oh shit. Oh God, oh fucking Christ -!

He felt it, the overspill of her emotions in his brain, and he came harder than he'd ever come before. She followed within milliseconds, clamping down, claiming him, biting into his shoulder so deep the skin couldn't reform around her teeth - he bled as he emptied himself into her and it was _so goddamned good_. "You're so goddamned good," he told her as soon as he could use his voice again. She drew her teeth out of him and let her head fall onto the pillow. They sank into the mattress together, plastered to each other.

"Let's do that again every day for the rest of our lives," he said a little breathlessly. She laughed. He rolled a bit to the side, holding her close. "I love you," he said quietly.

She pressed her nose to his chest. "Love you too," she said in her new, barely audible rasp.

Logan, a.k.a. John Howlett, a.k.a. Wolverine, decided right then that no matter what had happened before or what would happen from now on, Life was Pretty Fucking Great.

THE END


End file.
